


Scot Under The Collar

by sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 1953 - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No SHIELD (Marvel), Blenders, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Magic, Paranormal Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Witch Jemma Simmons, Wolf Familiar Leo Fitz, fated mates, witch and familiar au, wolf shifter character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. It's 1953, nearly a decade after the end of WWII. Jemma Simmons is moving north, escaping her demons and joining the last remaining witch coven in Great Britain. Shifter Fitz has given up hope of finding his fated mate, and is living deep in the wood as a wolf. Until, under the light of the full moon, he scents someone new. They need to find their love and Jemma's power before the past catches up to them and drives them apart for good.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 458
Kudos: 278





	1. Jemma

Darkness gathered under the trees along the dirt road, forcing Jemma to flick on her headlights. Too bad her supernatural powers hadn’t been able to shorten the drive from London to her new cottage in Glass River, Scotland, where shaggy-haired cows outnumbered people fifty to one. She hummed along with the Frankie Laine song on the Austin’s stereo, and peered out the windscreen as wet autumn leaves blew across the ruts in the road. She shivered even though she was warm enough in her car. Winter came early this far north, and for the first time she’d be spending it alone.

She rounded a bend in the road, downshifting as her headlights outlined the squat shape of what had to be Pine Cottage. It stood by itself in a clearing amid the tall Scotch pines and heavy oak trees. No welcoming light gleamed in the window, but Jemma hadn’t been expecting one. Her coven had its own duties to see to on the night of the full moon, and if there was one thing she understood, it was duty. 

Jemma parked the car and turned the engine off, the pinging sound of it cooling loud in the silence. She grabbed her bag sitting on the passenger seat to take with her. It dragged heavily at her arm as she straightened up, the top of her brand-new electric blender peeked out of the top. She rounded the front fender and paused to stretch her neck. The muscles ached after being on the road so many hours. Her brown hair in its ponytail brushed her shoulders, the drag of it so different from when she would arrive for a shift at the hospital with it up in a tight bun, pins digging into her scalp.

The snowy white, perfectly round moon hefted itself over the tops of the trees, and the hair on her arms stood up. A howl rose and fell from deep in the forest. She shook her head. It had to be some farmer’s dog, there were no wolves in Scotland. Jemma huffed, marching up the front path to the cottage’s front door.

Damn her bloody cousin Raina for dying and leaving her in this mess. Jemma had stopped studying witchcraft at sixteen, when Raina had inherited the family’s power. Soon there’d been a war to worry about and Jemma had lied about her age to do her part and tend the broken young men sent home from the front.

Their screams still echoed inside her skull.

The key turned smoothly in the lock, and the door opened to reveal sandalwood scented darkness. The wall was smooth plaster under her fingers as she groped for the promised light switch. The buttons were there, and relief poured through her as light flooded the room. It looked cozy with its fireplace, sofa, and chairs. Books lined the back wall, and a hallway led to what she assumed was her bedroom and the loo.

Jemma’s bag thunked on the brightly colored area rug. Fatigue clutched at her shoulders, and she longed to go test out her new bed for softness. But the coven would know if she shirked her duties on her very first night in Scotland. A witch always performed a ritual on the full moon, and there would be no hiding anything from the other three women of the coven. They’d know, because the wind would whisper it, or the water, or the flame of a candle. The earth wouldn’t because, as Jemma’s element, it obeyed her. At least in theory. In practice she still barely had any idea how to bend anything to her will.

A dark chunk of snowflake obsidian caught her eye from where it rested on a mahogany end table. Jemma hovered her hand over it, feeling the tiny pricks of its energy against her palm. She picked it up, the dark polished surface pulling the tension from her. She sighed as her muscles loosened and breathed deeply until her mind stilled. The grounding effect of the rock was a blessing, and she patted it softly for its service.

Jemma set the stone aside and picked up the slim book bound in burgundy that’d been beneath the obsidian. It opened of its own accord to a page marked with a note.

_Welcome, Jemma. We can’t wait to meet you. Here is a simple ritual to get you started. -Your Coven Sisters_

Jemma’s fingers drummed dully against the book’s cover. She hadn’t been here ten minutes and she already had homework. The spell, handwritten neatly on the page, didn’t require much. Though it was required to be done skyclad. She shut the book sharply. Really? Nude? In this chill she’d die of pneumonia if she went clad in nothing but sky.

Or maybe her embarrassment would keep her warm enough. She’d hadn’t been naked outside of a bath in ten years. When she’d been nineteen and spending most day’s up to her elbows in blood, she agreed to marry the first man who’d asked her. Will had been a soldier, of course, and had looked smart in his uniform. She seen him out of it a few times and he’d been pleased enough with her for the few nights they’d had together, but then he’d gone a died and that had been that.

She wiped a finger under her eyes. It had to be the exhaustion of the drive. Will had passed ten years ago, Jemma couldn’t be crying over dreams that had long turned to dust.

Kneeling beside her bag, she plucked out the wand she’d made herself from a willow tree when she’d been fourteen. It’d turned out decently, the amber tigers-eye gems in the handle lying flush with the wood. It still fit comfortably in her hand and sizzled faintly with latent energy.

Jemma traded her jacket for a cloak that covered her blouse and skirt. Thankfully Raina had remained the neat-nick Jemma remembered, which allowed Jemma to easily find a candle and matches among the magical supplies. She supposed she should be grieving over Raina’s death more than she was, but she hadn’t seen Raina in years and years. Rifling through her collection of herbs, athames, and incense didn’t make Jemma miss her. No more than getting all Raina’s hand me down clothes and shoes had made Jemma fonder of her cousin when they were children.

Now she had Raina’s hand me down power.

Which would have to be enough. The Glass River Coven was the last witch coven in Britain. If they decided Jemma wasn’t good enough, she had nowhere else to go. Except back to the hospital, back to the long hours and the endless battle against death.

Her scalp crawled from the imagined feel of a starched cap.

She couldn’t go back.

Gathering up her supplies, Jemma headed for the rear door of the cottage. A torch sat on the kitchen counter next to the door. She tested it and the bright beam made her blink. Small blessings. Outside, the wind tugged at her hair as she played the beam of light over the rear garden. A small shed sat to one side, leaves littered the brown grass, and Jemma saw nowhere to hold a ritual.

She walked a few feet out into the yard and turned slowly around. Clouds covered the moon, and the only light was from the torch. A gap in the trees caught her attention. A small path stretched into the forest. Just the kind of trail that might end at a ritual space. Unless it led to a cliff that she’d tumble down because she couldn’t see the edge. Which was preposterous. Raina wouldn’t have a trail that lead to certain doom.

The forest waited, silent and black, for her to enter. Tales about spirits and sprites teased at the edges of her mind as a chill prickled along her spine. Fairies that stole you away. Or maybe they only stole children. She was hardly a child.

Jemma squared her shoulders. She’d faced too much during her time of her nurse to be scared of trees, a little dirt, and a few old stories. Her stride was long as she walked across the grass, the leaves squelching under her shoes. 

Reaching the edge of the garden, she stopped short of putting her foot on the path. An owl’s hoot sounded from within the branches of one of the pines and her heartbeat sped up. She could turn around, climb into bed, and curl up warm and safe. And then immediately lose her place as a member of the coven.

“Stop being a ninny,” she said, her voice the level and calm one she used with unruly patients. The owl hooted again, this time sounding affronted. “Not you, me.” If she could learn how to clean and dress necrotic wounds, she surely could perform a simple ritual in the dark.

Inhaling deeply, she walked into the forest. The dirt path was dry beneath the pines, with no stones to trip her. It was as easy as walking down the hallway of her parent’s London flat. The sound of the breeze among the branches was like the hum of distant traffic. The path ended in a clearing. A stump with a flat, smooth top provided a space for her to set the book, wand, and candle.

A nearby brook tinkled, and to one side of the open space was a flat sided stone that jutted towards the night sky, taller than a man. Its energy tugged at her, and Jemma crossed the clearing, her hands raised, as if the stone were tugging at strings attached to her palms. Her fingers spread out over the surface of the rock, and power, deep and old, pulsed under them. She wanted to touch it, bathe in it, lose herself in its wildness. Only there was a barrier, a wall that she was unable push past to reach the well of earth energy that teased her with its nearness. With a groan, Jemma leaned her forehead against the stone.

If she couldn’t connect to the earth, she’d never be able to perform any kind of magic. Her fingers pushed against the rock, and she breathed in its mossy scent while chill and damp nipped at her legs under her skirt the way the fear of failure gnawed at her mind.

A branch cracking made her spin around and she bit back a cry. Jemma braced herself against the hard stone. A buck stepped out of the woods, the sound of its deliberate footfalls thudding on the short grass of the clearing. It raised its head, black nose twitching. The clouds shifted and moonlight flooded over the stag, silvering the tips of its antlers. The creature turned its head and one huge, dark eye focused on Jemma.

Awareness prickled over her skin, as warm and gentle as a lover’s touch. Jemma stared into the endless depths of the stag’s unblinking gaze, and something deep inside her shifted, like a fault line during an earthquake. She was _seen_.

“Hello, Cernunnos,” she whispered, the name of the Celtic horned god pouring over her tongue like wine. The stag flicked its ears before darting away soundlessly to disappear among the trunks of the pines.

Jemma staggered forward, pulling at her clothes. The forest had welcomed her, and she had to do her best to return the favor. The cold had disappeared, and she felt too warm. Her blouse, skirt, and underthings landed in a heap beside the stump serving as her alter. With trembling hands, she lit the candle. The fire licked at her skin and she cursed as she blew out the match. Her wand felt alive as she plucked it from the stump and raised it high over her head.

Moonlight caressing her face, Jemma began to chant. 


	2. Fitz

Fall was the best time of year. Animals were fat and tasty, and it hadn’t turned so cold that Fitz had to worry about shelter. He shook as he trotted under the trees shedding their leaves, his thick wolf’s coat keeping out the chill better than any jacket. 

It’d been years since he’d changed into his human form and needed clothing of any kind. He was only a wolf now, which could have been a problem as Scotland had killed all its wolves two hundred years ago, but he stuck to the wilds of the highlands, and with his ruddy coat most people would see a dog, not a wolf. If anyone saw him at all. He avoided people like the plague, much as he had when he’d still walked as a human. The war had shown him enough of humanity to last a lifetime. 

He missed human food once in a while. Shepard’s pie, haggis, bangers and mash. His stomach rumbled. He needed to hunt. 

Pausing at a creek, Fitz drank, the water cold on his tongue as he lapped. He raised his head as the pattering of tiny feet reached his ears. 

_ Dinner! _

Fitz crouched and cocked his head to get a better pinpoint on the sound. The wind was in his favor, and he breathed it in. A water vole. Perfect. His tongue flicked over a fang in anticipation. 

The forest provided, as he’d once imagined he’d provide for his mate. Though with fewer and fewer witches being born it would be more likely he’d stumble over a pot of gold than find the one he’d been destinedfor. Much easier to find a meal amid the leaf litter of the forest floor. 

The vole scurried from cover to cover, coming closer, and Fitz waited. 

It squeaked, a clear sign it had no idea he was there. Fitz’s legs tensed, he held his breath, and pounced. 

It was a miss. The vole took off like a shot. 

Excellent! He bounded after it, mud squishing between his toes as he chased it along the creek bank. The full moon lit everything up almost like daylight, and he could see every shifting leaf as the vole fled.

Fitz snapped, the warmth from its little body teasing his tongue as it dodged. He’d have it in a moment. His stomach rumbled again. 

The wind shifted, tugging at his fur as it blew from the south. A new scent swirled around him, overwhelming. It was ice breaking up on a river after a thaw mixed with delicate ferns poking up through rich loam. 

His claws dug into the ground as he froze. The vole vanished. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

The breeze came again, and he trembled as his pulse thundered. 

It was home. Mate.

His mate. 

A red haze of instinct wove its way through his body, setting his blood on fire. 

There was no thinking. He took off, the scent in his nose pulling him towards his mate. Thorns tore at his coat and water splashed over his shoulders as he charged through streams. 

Her. 

He had to get to her. 

The mad rush ceased as he skittered to a stop in a clearing, his breath burning in his lungs. 

A woman, redolent with power, stood naked in the moonlight with her arms raised to the heavens. Her hair was dark as it cascaded over her shoulders, framing breasts that hung round and heavy, the tips hard. 

His mouth went dry. 

She was majestic, a force of nature. Every part of him sang that she was his. 

Fitz’s hindquarters went wacky as his tail wagged uncontrollably. They were going to be so good together. It was every dream he’d stopped believing in coming true at once.

In joy, he launched himself past the standing stone. He landed at her feet and rolled on his back, his tongue lolled out of his open mouth. 

The woman screamed. 

He lay still and stretched out his neck, offering up his throat to show he was entirely hers. The part of his brain that was human was having a heyday imagining her beneath him. Or on top of him. Beside him. 

The woman’s scream trailed off into laughter. Fitz relaxed. He hadn’t meant to scare her with his enthusiasm. 

“Go away,” she tsked, shooing him with her hand. “I’m busy.” 

Fitz whined. He desperately tried to remember what his mum had told him. It wasn’t as instinctual a connection from the witch’s side, not at first. He had to bed her, that was it. Then she’d know. Only that would have to wait until he shifted into human form. The excitement of the moment wouldn’t even let him try. 

With a huff, Fitz continued to present himself submissively. 

“Oh, fine, I was mostly done anyway.” She stepped away and picked up a pair of knickers. They smelled enticing, a muskier version of her ice and fern scent, but he didn’t really want her putting them on. Not when she had such grabbable hips and the kind of tits he’d only seen in his wet dreams. Her accent was decidedly English, from London if he wasn’t mistaken. What the hell was she doing here?

To Fitz’s horror, she continued dressing. 

Swirling her cloak around her, she gathered up her things in a bag and turned her back on him, walking off. 

His stomach lurched. Unacceptable. He’d just found her. 

Twisting to his feet, Fitz rocketed around the witch, blocking her path. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, sounding cross. He had to struggle not to present his belly again. “Down,” she snapped, and Fitz lost the battle. He dropped and rolled over. 

The woman, his mate, walked around him without even a second look. Dear lord, she was glorious. 

She’d gone a dozen yards down the path before he managed to convince his legs to get back under him to give chase. Unlike the vole, he couldn’t afford to let her get away. 

The path was straight and well-trod, with the woods trimmed back on either side. He could scent a human dwelling ahead, along with the oil from a car engine and the rubber of recently used tires. The trappings of civilization he’d thought he’d left behind the last time he’d shed his clothes and shifted. 

It made him pause. He’d meant to be done with all that sort of thing, but the witch continued along the path. 

Fitz scrabbled to block her way again, and whined, willing her to understand that he was hers, dammit.

The witch waved him away. “Off with you, I do not need a dirty, smelly dog.” 

Dog? 

Of all the…she couldn’t have just…he was not a dog. 

Fitz was a wolf, a creature of the wild. He attempted to look more regal, standing a little taller and lifting his tail. 

“Off with you,” the woman repeated. She walked around him again, but this time he stuck his nose out, bumping her hip. 

For a moment he was dazed as his entire being screamed ‘mate’ at him. The woman had paused as well and was frowning at him. Could she feel it too? Any part of the deep magic that tied them together? He whined softly. 

“You’re a very odd dog, aren’t you?” She rubbed where he’d touched, and Fitz wagged his tail, convinced she had figured it out, but she turned her back on him again and walked away. Out of a lack of other ideas, he hung his head and followed her down the path. 

They exited the trees, the sight of the cottage with its stone walls and lighted windows stopping him in his tracks. The fur along his spine raised. Walls could be traps. The witch stepped onto the stoop, opened the door, and Fitz belatedly realized he wasn’t close enough to dart in. 

“Go away,” she said with finality and slammed the door behind her. The sound rang in his ears like a crack of thunder. 

Fitz sat on his haunches. His heart ached. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He belonged to her in a bone-deep way that made him doubt if he’d ever truly been certain of anything before in his life. It’d be easier to believe the sky wasn’t blue than it was to think his mate didn’t want him. 

It was impossible. 

From the moment he’d first drawn breath, he’d been waiting for her. Craved her. And finally, after he’d given up, he’d found her. And she’d left him sitting outside on the dead grass like last week’s rubbish.

Despair at being turned away rolled through him, a wave of pain that threated to drag him under. He lifted his muzzle to the sky and howled a lament. Agony tore through his soul like teeth. 

His mate had rejected him, and his heart was breaking. He howled at the cruel moon, voicing his torment into the endless dark that would now live inside him-- 

The back door banged open. 

“Be quiet,” the witch snapped. He kept howling. 

She marched across the yard and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Her hand felt like heaven on him and the howl cut off as he tried to turn and lick her beautiful wrist. His back end went crazy again with tail wagging. 

“You want to come in?” His mate tugged at him, and Fitz was so relieved he didn’t mind the pull on his skin as she directed him through the door. Once inside, he planted his paws as he stared up at the ceiling. The stars had been his only roof for years, but now they were missing. His heart thundered in his ears, and he would have bolted back out the door if anyone other than his mate had been the one standing in the hallway. Being with her was fated. He closed his eyes and breathed in her smell until the panic subsided and he could breathe again. 

The witch took his head in her hands, and he leaned into her touch. It sent little jolts of pleasure through him. He could stand the roof if this would be the reward. 

“Why are you covered in so much muck?” she grumbled. “You look a sight. More like a pig than a dog.” 

What? His eyes snapped open, his gaze focusing on his mate’s freckles. She wore the stars for him. But dog, for fuck’s sake. She stroked his head and his mouth fell open and his tongue hung out as he panted from the swirling excitement of how good her touch felt. Fitz thought he might even be drooling. 

“You are getting mud everywhere, and I don’t have a proper mop. Or even a decent broom. Or anything to feed you, for that matter. Not that I’m much of a chef. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, it’s no wonder I haven’t charmed anyone into marrying me.” 

It was more human speech than Fitz had heard in years. All in his mate’s soothing voice. The most important part of it, that stood out to him, is that she wasn’t already married. Though he didn’t know how. Such a remarkable woman should have endless lines of suiters. The thought sobered him. He’d have competition for her heart. He should shift, become human, and present himself to her. Surely she’d feel the connection between them. 

Then his mate would bed him, they’d formally seal their connection, and life would be good. All of his best ideas for shagging her involved him getting his face between her lovely tits. 

But he had to have a human face to get started on that. With a grunt, Fitz hunched himself up. 

Nothing happened.

Shite. 

He tried again, with the same result. It’d been ages since he’d been human, he wasn’t even sure how long, exactly, and the change wouldn’t come to his call. No prickle of magic. No shift of bone and muscle. Nothing. 

Bloody hell. 

Fear clutched at him, sending spikes to needle his heart. Fitz had to bed her or risk losing her. His mate, whose name he didn’t even know. 

“You wanted in here so bad, and now you’re just standing stiff-legged in the hallway.” The witch put her hands on her hips, and Fitz looked up at her. In the light she was even more beautiful, her lips red and her hair a lighter brown than he thought. Nut-brown. He’d bet it’d feel soft between his fingers.

He heaved a huge sigh. 

None of this was going how he’d always thought finding his mate would be like. He couldn’t shift, and his mate didn’t look very thrilled as she eyed him with a cross expression. It was not the way he wanted her to think of him. 

“You stink,” she announced. “Into the bath with you.” 

Bath?

She took ahold of his scruff once more as Fitz surreptitiously sniffed a paw. The scummy smell made his nose wrinkle. Hi head hung as he was forced to concede that he did stink. 

In the bathroom, the witch started the water running, steam curling up from it. She had warm water, bless her. Not wanting to disappoint her further, he hopped into the rapidly filling tub. Her hands sank into his coat as she scrubbed him while humming something soothing. Her touch relaxed him, and he sank into the water with a sigh.

“I suppose I’m simply meant to look after things,” she said to him conversationally. He nosed her hand. “I’m a nurse, and I always take care of everybody. Including stray dogs, it seems.” 

He wondered who took care of her and if she would mind him taking over the job. 

The witch washed away the remains of outside, finally draining the now dirty water. She held up a towel in front of her. “If you’re going to shake, do it now.” 

How thoughtful. Fitz braced his feet, claws clacking on the tub’s enamel, and shook, sending droplets flying. The pelted the curtain with loud smacks. He jumped out of the tub, and she kneeled beside him to rub him dry. Feeling bold, he licked her cheek. She tasted of magic and a little like salt. He adored it. 

“You’re welcome, Sir Dog. I’m Jemma. This is my first night in my new home, and I didn’t expect to make the kind of friend I’d have a bath with quite so quickly.” 

He’d rather like to have a bath with her when he was human. They wouldn’t be doing much together to get clean. 

Jemma. He repeated it mentally over and over. His mate, Jemma. 

She led him out to the living room and started a fire. Fitz leaned against her side as she did, determined to stay close. Once it blazed cheerfully, she directed him to stand on the woven rug in front of the fireplace and sat down so he was between her and the fire. She attacked his fur with a comb, and the discomfort of her working out the snarls was minimized by her voice as she told him all about book she’d read recently that involved a fisherman and the catch he tried to save from being eaten by sharks. 

Fitz didn’t think he’d much be interested in the story under other circumstances. As a soldier he’d been ferried back and forth across the Channel several times and all that endless water had been terrifying. He didn’t even want to think what might be living in it. 

He’d stay on dry land with his mate, thank you very much. 

Jemma set the comb aside. “You’re not too bad looking, now that you’re clean.” She kissed his muzzle and warmth swamped him. He rolled on his back again. “Belly rubs, is it?” Emma laughed her sparkling laugh and scratched at his tummy. It felt delightful. 

He made one last attempt to shift, but when he stayed a wolf, he gave up for the night. He was too preoccupied with the nearness of his mate and her ice-and-fern scent to have the capacity to examine why he wasn’t changing. Eventually he’d work it out, when he wasn’t tired and overwhelmed with the joy having just found his mate. 

Emma yawned. “Now I need to clean up.” 

He hated letting her out of his sight, but she’d be upset with him later if he spied on her. So Fitz stayed put in front of the fire, letting the warmth seep through his muscles in a way it hadn’t in years. There were perks to being indoors, if he didn’t think about the fact he was in a box with a lid. 

Jemma exited the bathroom a little while later, dressed in a white nightgown that fell to mid-thigh but hugged all the places Fitz most wished he had hands to touch. In the kitchen she flipped on the radio, humming along to the song. The singer, a woman, was pleading to be held and Fitz felt the words in his soul. He’d hold her, and she him, as soon as he worked out the problem with his shifting. 

“You doing alright, dog?” Jemma asked as she brushed out her hair. 

Fitz whined and stood, pressing his nose against her hip and enjoying the thrill that rushed through him. 

She gasped slightly, and the lights flickered and went out, the radio fading to silence.

“Rubbish wiring in these sorts of places, isn’t there?” Jemma dropped her brush on the counter with a clatter. “I don’t suppose it’s something I can do anything about right now.”

Worried, Fitz trotted around the house, but he couldn’t see or smell any of the tell-tale signs like sparking wires or smoke that implied a short in the system. He’d be training as an electrician after the war and remembered both well. The power outage must be from a problem farther down the line. He didn’t have thumbs to fix it at the moment anyhow.

Tail up, he returned to Jemma, who was now in the bedroom and pulling back the quilt. “This has been a terribly long day,” she said, patting his head. His tail wagged. “And I suppose you’re here to stay.” 

His tail wagged harder. He sure was, even if his mate didn’t know why, yet. He jumped onto the end of the bed, intent on curling up beside her. If he had to sleep inside, he intended to make the best of it, but Emma pushed him back off with a foot. 

His heart sank. He tried again, with the same result. 

“Not on the bed.” Her voice was firm, and he sat down, not wanting to disobey, but not sure where he should sleep if not beside her. That’d change when he could speak to her. 

Jemma plucked a red tartan throw off the end of the bed and dropped on the floorboards next to her side of the bed. In resignation, Fitz claimed the spot, turning around several times before settling down. 

As his eyes started to close, there was a rustle from the bed. Jemma draped her arm over the side and scratched at his ears. “I think I might like you being here.” 

Fitz’s heart filled to near bursting as her words settled over him. He licked her fingers, telling her without words that he liked it too. 

She patted him. “Good boy.” 


	3. Jemma

Morning sunlight spilled in around the curtains, warming Jemma’s face as she blinked her eyes open. Birds were singing outside the window. She smiled as she stretched out on her back. The remains of a dream were swirling deep in her belly, though she couldn’t remember entirely what it was about.

Something about a man with nice hands and long fingers.

Her clit throbbed. She slid one hand under her knickers, pressing the tight bud and wiggling in pleasure. She had a long list of things to do that day, starting with fixing the cottage’s power, but she could take a few moments to--

A rustling noise from beside the bed stilled her hand. Her heart beat wildly until she remembered she now had a big dog to feed. Hopefully eggs would do until she could get something more appropriate. Her lust had been chased away by panic, and there was no use trying to recapture the moment. She might as well start her day. Jemma rolled onto her stomach and stuck her hand over the bed to scratch the dog’s ears.

Instead of fur, her fingers met smooth, thick hair. In confusion, she patted around, her heart leaping into her throat as she poked at a not-dog shaped ear, then outlined a cheek and a soft pair of lips that opened and sucked on her fingers.

Fingers that she’d just had between her legs.

Jemma screamed and launched herself off the far side of the bed, crouching on the floor.

After a few deep breaths, she peeked over the top of the mattress.

Eyes as bright blue as a summer sky were looking back at her from under a curly mop of light brown hair. They looked as surprised as she felt.

“Who are you?” she asked shrilly. “And where’s my dog?”

The man frowned and looked down, then held his hand up in front of his face. “Oh, thank goodness, I did it!” His voice was a rough Scottish burr, and he seemed very pleased with himself.

Jemma was less pleased with him. “Get out!”

“Why?”

“Excuse me? Why? Because you snuck into my house while I was fast asleep and switched places with my dog.” A fellow nurse had warned her that Scotland was an odd place, but this really took the cake.

The man was poking at his teeth. “I’m a wolf.”

“What?”

“Not a bloody dog. I’m a wolf.”

“That still fails to explain why you are in my house.” Her hands gripped the bedspread. She was trapped, the lunatic man between her and the bedroom door. She didn’t even have a weapon. “Who are you?”

“I’m Leopold Fitz, call me Fitz, and I’m your familiar.” He crossed his arms on the top of the bed and laid his head on them with a sigh, his gaze on her and a smile on his lips. He had sweet lips, that looked soft and—

Jemma shook her head. What was wrong with her? A stranger was in her house, she sat trapped between the bed and wall, and her thoughts were about his face? It was a very nice face, with just the right amount of scruff. She shook her head again. “My what? Where’s my dog?”

“Jemma, I am the dog, er, wolf from last night. I couldn’t change back. I finally decided I was stuck because I’ve been running in the forest for a…what year is it?”

Jemma stared at him. He knew her name. How did he know her name and not the year? “It’s 1953.”

His face paled. “Oh. That’s, um, longer than I thought.” He disappeared towards the floor, and Jemma found herself missing him. Or, er, she needed to know where he was. In case he was about to attack her. Not that he seemed inclined to. He could have simply pinned her to the bed if he’d had evil intent. And he didn’t feel evil, not that she thought that was an adequate way to discern a person’s intentions. Jemma took a deep breath, unclenched her hands, and attempted to ground herself as her initial panic ebbed. What she wouldn’t give for a chunk of snowflake obsidian to help with that right about now. She could also throw at her intruder’s head.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Fitz said from the far side of the bed. “And I appreciated being able to sleep close to you. These instincts are much stronger than I’d been expecting.”

“What instincts?” She carefully crawled onto the bed. A tugging in her chest pulled her towards Fitz. She needed to see him. To, ah, ascertain what we was up to, she reassured herself.

“Do you not know about familiars?”

There was that word again. “I’m a bit new to all this,” she said. 

“Oh.” There was an entire wealth of emotion in that one syllable, including disappointment. As if it’d been her fault her training had stopped abruptly at sixteen. Familiar frustration at being denied learning something poked at her.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I was hunting for dinner last night,” he said, and she crept a little further towards the other side of the bed. “I was having a bit of a chase with a vole, but then—” There was a sharp inhale. “Then I scented you. I had to come running. Never seen anything like you wearing nothing but moonlight.”

Jemma froze. He’d seen her naked. Her cheeks heated.

“And just so you know,” he continued. “That was the best way ever I’ve been woken up.”

Her face burned hotter.

Fitz abruptly stood up. “And I’m human. I changed for you.” On all fours on the bed, she ended up eye level with his navel, and entirely aware of what was below it. He yelped, dropping down on the floor again. “Sorry!”

Jemma launched herself off the bed towards the closet, yanking the door open. “I’ll find something for you to wear,” she chirped, ignoring the molten fire that had formed in her belly. As a nurse, she’d seen all manner of cocks in her line of work, and none of them had remotely affected her quite like Fitz’s did. He hadn’t even been hard, and still her mouth watered. Bother.

She was going crazy. Less than a day into her new life and she was already losing her mental footing. In the closet, Jemma pushed around the clothing on its metal hangers, desperately looking for anything that would remotely fit the Scotsman in her room.

“Jemma?” he asked, her name sounding far different rolling on his tongue than she’d ever heard it before. It was like he was licking it. Licking her name.

She shouldn’t be thinking about the licking of anything.

A green tartan kilt was hung far to one side of the closet. The question of why Raina had a man’s kilt in her closet was one to be answered another time. Jemma grabbed it, turned, and hurriedly crossed the room to shove it into Fitz’s hands, all while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his face.

His nose twitched and he glanced towards the hem of her nightgown. She didn’t want to think about the desire pooling between her legs and that he might be able to smell it.

She grabbed his bicep, it felt surprisingly strong under her fingers, and ushered him towards the door. “Clothes on, I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, attempting to use a tone that implied she wasn’t in the mood to argue. To her surprise, Fitz went along with her, and before she slammed the door shut, she was treated to a view of his backside as he walked down the hall.

It was a very nice backside.

Door closed, she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to gather herself. She picked up a small piece of quartz from the nightstand, worrying it between her fingers. Hopefully, Fitz would be putting the kilt on and not robbing her blind. Could he really be the dog, well, wolf from last night? She knew without a doubt that magic existed, believing in shapeshifting didn’t seem to be a big stretch. It did feel like part of her wanted to trust him. Part of her also wanted to do much more with him. Jemma knew she probably shouldn’t listen to either of those thoughts.

The beside lamp flickered on.

Ah, the power was back. The world seemed more normal with the lights on.

Jemma pulled a brown skirt and white blouse from her bag and shook them out. They were wrinkled but would have to do. At least she had clean knickers and a fresh bra. Her hair went up into a bun, and she decided that anything more than a quick swipe of mascara wasn’t worth her time. Stockings were also not in the cards this morning. Fitz would have to make do with her bare legs.

Her rough plan was to make him a simple breakfast and then insist he leave. Perhaps she’d have tea with him in a few days, if he showed up, and they could discuss things more calmly at that point.

Capital idea. She needed time to settle in and do some research, but first she needed to make breakfast.

Jemma opened the bedroom door. The scent of eggs being fried enveloped her. She followed it to the kitchen, and her mouth fell open. Fitz had a pan on the stove and slices of bread in the toaster. The radio played big band music, the sound soft. He managed to get the kilt on, thankfully, though nothing else. It was a sight she couldn’t quite make work. Attractive, mostly naked, men did not just show up and make her breakfast.

She needed perspective. Nothing made any sort of sense.

“If you are who you say you are,” she said slowly to his back. “I’m not happy you were spying on my while I was naked in the woods.”

His shoulders slumped and he rubbed his nape. “Yeah. Um, sorry. In my defense I wasn’t spying, you just happened to be naked when I got there. The pull…do you not feel it at all?”

“What am I supposed to be feeling?” Jemma attention was entirely focused on his back. His naked back. Perhaps she shouldn’t be on a high horse about the woods. “And maybe yes.”

Fitz glanced over his shoulder and gave her a crooked smile. “Aye?”

“The fact that I’m not screaming for you to get out, or throwing anything at you when I don’t know who you are, speaks volumes.” Frankly, she should probably be worried about herself more and why she hadn’t tossed him out on his ear yet.

His grin widened before he returned his gaze to the stove.

“Do you want me to take over cooking?” she asked. Her father never lifted a finger to help her mum in the kitchen, and her mum never questioned that. Having Fitz making them breakfast was nearly as odd an idea as him being a wolf.

“Of course not, let me do this for you. You look lovely this morning.”

Jemma stood stock still, her bare foot cold on the kitchen tile, and attempted to not get flighty over Fitz calling her beautiful and actually making her feel it, even in wrinkled clothes and no stockings.

“Is the music alright?” he asked as he flipped a frying egg. “I though you wouldn’t mind since you sang quite a bit last night.”

“It’s nice,” she said. “Though I hope I didn’t abuse your ears too much. I enjoy music, but I don’t excel at it.”

Fitz shrugged. “Sounded alright to me.”

“I’d sometimes go to performances, in London,” she said opening the refrigerator. Everything was still fairly cold, and nothing appeared spoiled. “Did the power come back on by itself?”

“I had to flip a breaker.”

She took out the strawberry jam and set it on the counter. “Doesn’t seem like running around as a wolf would provide much of an education on electricity.”

“Aye, but after…after, after those years, I apprenticed with an electrician for a bit.”

After the War, he meant.

“You know I served as a nurse?” She waited, and he nodded. “What about you?”

“Sapper.”

They didn’t look at each other, and she suspected he had his own set of memories that haunted him. Fitz silently slid the eggs onto a plate and cracked two more into the pan. Now wasn’t the time to pry. If there ever was a right time to ask people about their ghosts. They were all like the shops and homes rebuilt after the blitz. They looked smart and new, but underneath the cracks from the War still showed. 

To distract herself from those kinds of thoughts, Jemma set about making her morning drink. She patted the side of her pink blender and plugged it in. She had to look through a couple of cabinets to locate a measuring cup. Turning around she found Fitz bent over and peering at the machine.

Jemma licked her surprisingly dry lips as she surveyed the curve of his spine. “I’m going to make a strawberry jam smoothie. Would you like one?” she asked, rather breathless.

He tilted his head to the side, looking for all the world like a curious puppy. “Yes?” he said, the word more of a question than an answer. She nearly ruffled the thick hair on his head, but instead nodded and opened another cupboard to remove a container of non-fat dry milk solids.

After dumping in the jam, water, and milk-solids into the blender, she walked around Fitz—who took up a lot of room in her little kitchen—and opened the refrigerator again.

“Drat,” she grumbled, staring at the empty freezing compartment. “I forgot to make ice. Not that it would have frozen with the power off.”

Fitz walked over and leaned a shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed. “You’re a witch.”

“I remember.”

He made a frustrated sound. “So freeze some water if you need ice.”

She pulled the empty ice cube tray out and shook it at him. “I know that’s how ice is made, but it’ll take hours.” She walked around him to the sink to fill up the tray. When she turned, she nearly hit Fitz, who stood close behind her.

“Can you not freeze it? With your power?”

Jemma felt very small as Fitz stared at her. “I told you, I wasn’t trained. That was my cousin.”

Fitz whined, sounding exactly like he had as a wolf the night before. “Let me help. That’s what I’m for. I’m your familiar. Here, put both your hands around it.” He settled his big, warm hands over hers as she curled her fingers around the tray. “Draw the energy from the earth,” he said, voice calm and steady. “Focus it into freezing the ice. See it happening in your mind.”

Jemma wanted this to work so badly, to be able to make even the tiniest connection with the power that lay under her feet.

That Fitz knew about magic made her want to believe everything he’d said. That he would be someone special to her. That she was a powerful witch.

She closed her eyes. Ice. Jemma imagined falling snow, cold temperatures, being able to walk on the frozen surface of a river. Energy, the deep blue of the heart of a glacier, swirled beneath her feet. Mentally, she reached for it. For a heartbeat the familiar barrier was there, but then it gave ever so slightly and she felt a thread reaching for her. She seized on that tentative connection and drew it up, up, up, into her. For a panic moment she felt lost in a swirling blizzard, her teeth chattering.

Then Fitz’s fingers brushed her wrists. “Into the water now,” his voice coaxed. His hands helped her direct the swirl of sharp, sapphire energy down her arms and into the container, until it was all there, and not in her anymore.

Fitz yipped in excitement and she opened her eyes. The water in the tray was frozen solid. She was holding ice cubes.

“I did it! Or we did it. I..I…” It felt like she was floating, her joy giving her wings.

Fitz wrapped his arms around her and hugged her exuberantly while she held the ice tray to one side. Jemma nearly dropped it as she leaned against him, surrounded my masculine heat. He smelled a little like the forest. Before she ended up licking him to see if he tasted like pine, Fitz let her go and rescued the toast, which was verging on very well done.

Jemma popped out a few of the cubes and added them to the blender. Fitz reappeared beside her as she turned the blender on, ducking down to watch the contents of the glass jar mix together.

“Ingenious,” he said, tapping the glass.

“I’m very proud of it, I had to save for quite a well. I have an entire book of recipes in one of the boxes in my car.”

Fitz straightened up. “What kind of car?” he asked, sounding eager.

“Food, then car. You can help me unpack.” If he wanted to hang around, he could help. Then she could drive him into town, or towards Glass Loch, or wherever wolf-shifters went, and set up a time for them to meet properly.

The thought that he’d find someone else to work with, who understood her powers, crossed Jemma’s mind. Fitz and this other witch would probably end up in their own little cottage, and he’d forget about Jemma. Jealousy, irrational and hot ripped through her. She hit the button to stop the blender with more force than she meant to. She couldn’t even think straight.

“You’ll help with the car?” she snapped, and Fitz looked taken aback as he set down glasses for the drink. 

“Yes, yes, absolutely I’ll help you.” He sat across the Formica table from her, his expression becoming stymied as he looked at the plate of eggs. “There’s something missing,” he said after a moment of staring. It took her muddled mind a second to figure out the problem.

“Forks,” she said, standing to get them. “And a knife, though how you fried eggs and then didn’t remember to get us utensils is beyond me.”

“I didn’t really think about the frying part.” He scratched the back of his head. “I just did it, for you.”

“Thank you.” 

She took tiny bites as Fitz shoveled food into his mouth. He paused to lick his fork after each bite, and she probably shouldn’t have found it as delightful as she did. Perhaps he planned to stay with her, and help her learn more things like the ice this morning. She needed that, as much as it galled to admit she needed help. Jemma helped other people, having help was new. It felt nice. If Fitz wanted to stay for a while, she shouldn’t stop him. However, he was going to need more clothes if he was going to stay in her house for any length of time, and would need to stay on the couch.

She sipped her smoothie as her eyes traced over the planes of his chest. Half the glass was gone before she realized she had progressed to simply staring at him. Jemma raised her eyes, to find him wearing a small, shy smile. A very kissable smile. Fitz swayed towards her.

“Do you like the drink?” she asked to break the tension.

He sat back, looking dazed, but then he recovered and picked up the glass. His tongue darted out to taste the drink, but then he looked confused. She almost laughed as he lapped at it again, but then he figured it out and took a small sip. His brows lifted and he tilted head back and downed the entire thing. His adam’s apple bobbed as he drank. “It’s sweet,” he said, setting the empty glass down. “I haven’t had anything sweet in ages.”

Jemma grinned. She busied herself by gathering up his now empty plate along with hers. “My car’s not locked, if you’d please start bringing the boxes in.”

Fitz eagerly got up and nearly bounded outside to do as she asked. Jemma rinsed exactly one dish, then went to look out the open front door. His bare feet on the gravel not seeming to bother him, Fitz circled the car, his nose twitching. He drew closer and ran his hand over the roof. His eyes met hers. “Cars have changed,” he said hoarsely. “Probably the engines too.” 

“Open the bonnet and have a look, but I do need my things inside.”

He found the latch and raised the bonnet to study the engine. He leaned over it, and Jemma pretended she wasn’t admiring any part of him, especially not his arse.

With a sigh, she stuck her feet in her shoes and went out to start carrying things in. Fitz quickly joined her, and they brought the boxes in much faster than she would have by herself. They worked well together, sorting the containers into rooms. Car unpacked, she started putting away things in the kitchen first. Fitz joined her, asking about where she wanted things put, and handling her china gently. He just fit, like he’d always been here. And when he asked her about work at the hospital, she found him easy to chat with.

When they reached the complexities of respirator machines, they stopped putting things away so that Jemma could make a sketch for him, and he teased out more information about the machine, and came up with a few ideas of his own for improvements.

“You need a more accurate way of measuring gas concentrations,” he said, tapping the eraser of a pencil against the table they were standing beside.

“Well, if—”

“Wait,” he hissed, grabbing her arm. She fell into shocked silence. “I think someone’s coming. I hear a car.”

“What?”

He held still, and a moment later the faint noise of an engine reached her. They shared a look and walked into the living room. He stood rigid as his nose twitched.

Tires crunched on gravel, and she moved to look out the window, but his hand stopped her. The engine noise cut off and the sound of a car door squeaking made her jump. Fitz’s upper lip drew back from his teeth. “What?” she whispered. “Who is it?”

“Three people, women. They’re witches.”

Jemma’s hand flew to her heart. Company! She should have been expecting it, instead of being caught unprepared. “My coven!” she cried. “Is my hair alright? Do I smell?”

“Like ice and fern?” he said, brows drawing together.

Ice and fern, what did that mean? She started towards the door, then glanced back at Fitz. He stood mostly naked in living room, and fear gripped her. She didn’t know these women besides a few letters. If they met her accompanied by an underdressed man, what would they think of her? Would they send her packing? It wouldn’t look right, but where to have him wait? Not in the loo, someone might need it, or they could go into the bedroom to retrieve something lent to Raina.

She wrung her hands as voices approached the door. Panicked, she whirled in a circle, her gaze fastening on the living room closet door. They’d stored a few boxes in there earlier. It was the right size for one person to hide.

“Fitz,” she hissed. “This isn’t the time for you to be here. I need to meet them first before I start parading blokes I hardly know in front of them. Especially ones without much clothing on.”

“You don’t want to share.” His eyes went soft.

“Uh, yes, no sharing. Into storage with you.” She put a hand on his back and propelled him into the closet.

She shut him in and smoothed down the front of her shirt.

A loud knock sounded from the front door.


	4. Fitz

Darkness filled the closet, except for a little light that filtered in through the keyhole. Dust motes danced in the beam, and Fitz’s nose twitched. He rubbed at it, hoping he wouldn’t sneeze. He shifted, the confined space uncomfortable. The close walls made his skin crawl.

Jemma answered the door and the smell of cooked chicken wafted in, rich and thick. Oh damn. It was 1953. He’d walked away from his apprenticeship in 1947. Six years. He hadn’t had cooked chicken in six years. Kicking a box of things that clinked out of the way, Fitz knelt down to peer through the keyhole. He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Come in,” Jemma said brightly, stepping away from the front door. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Her words were sweet, but her shoulders were tense. Fitz whined softly over her worry.

The first woman through the door was carrying the chicken. She towered over Jemma, all long blonde hair and legs. Her blue checked dress was plain and housewifely, but Fitz didn’t think anyone would be mistake her for being domestic, or domesticated, for that matter. “I’m Bobbi,” she said, nodding at Jemma. “Water.” Not a placid stream that one, but a raging maelstrom. Her American accent grated.

The second woman was also carrying a casserole dish. “Elena,” she said with a heavy Spanish accent. Her dark hair was in a tight braid. “Air.” She was in black trousers that barely passed her knees and a yellow sweater set. Fitz could feel the gale she contained from the closet.

The last woman sauntered through the door. She was in tight black jeans and an off the shoulder black blouse, both that looked almost painted on, and had a lit cigarette between ruby red lips. Dark hair hung loose around her shoulders. She’d be south. She caught the cig between her fingers and breathed out a cloud of smoke. “Daisy, from California.” Jemma smiled politely and waved a hand to clear the smoke.

Fitz’s heart swelled with pride as his mate ushered her coven into the living room and took the casserole to the kitchen. His Jemma was far more lovely then the rest of them put together. Probably smarter, too. Though he was perhaps a little biased. Or a lot biased. He was her familiar and mate, after all, and he had plans to spend the rest of his life worshiping every inch of her with his tongue.

It’d floored him at breakfast when she hadn’t known how to freeze the water, and he’d been happy to help. Her excitement had been dazzling. It’d never occurred to him that his witch might be brand new at everything and would need him quite so much. He struggled with the urge to open the door and run to hug her against his chest so she’d know she wasn’t alone, because right now Jemma looked like she was terrified. His fingers twitched.

Bobbi perched on the couch. “It’s odd to be here without Raina.” There were nods from the other girls, who’d claimed places on the furniture that they were probably accustomed to. Fitz scratched an itch on his thigh. The cupboard’s walls felt closer than before.

“How did she die?” Jemma asked. “All we heard is that she’d passed.”

The coven shared uneasy glances. “We don’t know,” Bobbi finally said, her eyes dropping. “We found her collapsed outside the front door. No marks on her.”

Fitz bristled. If they brought Jemma here, into danger, they’d regret it.

Daisy sighed, blowing out a huge cloud of smoke with the noise. “Natural causes is what the coroner said.”

“Oh,” Jemma said softly.

Elena eyed her. “Raina…she sometimes got into things she shouldn’t.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Good,” Daisy lit another cig. “If you figure out what she was doing, you let us know.”

“And don’t try anything she was,” Bobbi added.

“I’m not that dumb,” Jemma said tartly, and Fitz cheered for her. “I might be new to this, but I will learn as much and as fast as possible. I won’t let you down.”

“We know.” Bobbi’s tone was no-nonsense. “Elena read the tarot for your arrival, and it was all amazing things.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Jemma’s lips.

“You should start with this book,” Elena said, holding it out to Jemma. It was a huge volume and it nearly slipped out of Jemma’s hands as she took it. “It has all our usual workings.”

“Thank you.” She flipped through it, her smile growing.

The other girls laughed and reassured Jemma that she was going to do fine. Fitz knew she’d be better than fine, and he couldn’t wait to see it.

“What do we need to know about you?” Bobbi asked, crossing her ankles. “Your letter said only very general things.”

“Um, I’ve never been married. I had a fiancé, but he ended up like so many other young men in the war.”

Fitz growled softly. Both because he hated Jemma defining herself in relation to a past lover instead of by her own merits, and because he could remember far too many faces of friends that hadn’t come back from the fight. Comrades. His chest tightened.

“What else?” Daisy asked. “That was a while ago.” She waved the cig in her hand around.

Bobbi ‘s lips pursed. “You worked as a nurse?”

“Yes, I started as part of the war effort, and then never stopped.” She gave a shrug of her shoulder. “It means I have a great nurse voice. You don’t want me to use it.”

“You’re bossy?” Elena asked with a laugh.

Jemma’s shoulders eased and her smile became more genuine. “I’ll try not to give orders, like sit, or stay.”

Fitz shivered as her words and voice commanded his attention. He blinked a few times as his vision became blurry. When it cleared, the closet seemed bigger. He looked down and saw paws.

He’d shifted.

Shite.

Giggling erupted outside the door.

“Give us another one,” Bobbi said. “You do sound very no-nonsense.”

“Well.” Jemma’s voice was amused, and Fitz huffed. With a muzzle he couldn’t easily see through the keyhole anymore. “I suppose there’s roll-over,” it was said with too much of a laugh to be a command.

“Say ‘come’,” Daisy asked. “Like you’re telling it to a lover.” She drew out the last word, making it a joke.

Jemma giggled again. “Alright.” She took a breath. “Come.”

The word pushed every button that Fitz had. His mate had spoken. With a sharp bark, he hurled himself at the door. It crashed open and he found himself in a heap on the floorboards.

Everything went silent as Fitz thought about the fact he should have probably stayed where Jemma had put him.

“I hate to point this out,” Bobbi eventually said. “But there was a wolf in your living room closet.”

“I know,” Jemma replied, sounding very non-plussed. “I’m not sure what to do with him yet and I didn’t want you to think poorly of me because of my, er, dog. I mean wolf.” Fitz scrambled to his feet and shook. Leaving the kilt behind, he trotted to Jemma. She looked down at him and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked, her tone exasperated. He pressed against her legs, hoping that if she did anything, it would be feed him lunch soon instead of yelling at him for disobeying.

The other witches were staring, and he could feel their magic scratching at him. He pressed harder against Jemma, seeking the feel comforting feel of mate.

Bobbi was the first to speak. “Is that your familiar?”

“Shit,” Daisy whispered. She snuffed out her cigarette in a stone ashtray and dropped to her knees beside Fitz. “You are, aren’t you?” She looked sad, but Fitz wanted to edge away. He’d never been great at being the center of attention, in school, in the army, and certainly not in the middle of a group of unfamiliar witches, all who could probably flay him alive. Jemma’s hand settled on his head and he pressed into her palm.

“Yes,” Jemma said. “I think he is. This is Fitz. He showed up last night, and I didn’t know what he was until this morning. I thought he was just a big dog that wouldn’t go away, but he said he’s my familiar. I don’t actually know what that means.” He could tell she hated admitting that.

“Hi, Fitz.” Daisy smiled at him. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I hope there’s more where you came from.”

Fitz growled as Daisy leaned too close, though mostly he was reeling from Jemma’s not knowing what being his mate meant. She felt some inkling of their bond, he was certain, but it wouldn’t be the incessant, irresistible pull that tugged at his heart and made him willing to hide in closets because she’d said so. They had to lie together first, then Jemma would feel it. He wanted that more than he could say, even when he had the kind of tongue that formed words. His wonderful mate, her brown eyes full of the bond that would last for the rest of their days.

Daisy wrinkled her nose at Fitz and his growls, and returned to her seat. “If you’re asking what it means, then you haven’t fu-”

“Elena,” Bobbi interrupted Daisy. Which was unfortunate. Jemma really needed to know about the shagging. “I believe Raina had a book on familiars in her collection. Can you please retrieve it for Jemma?”

Elena rolled her eyes but went to the bookshelves lining the wall and began searching through the volumes.

Jemma sat on the floor, legs under her, beside Fitz. Much to his delight, she wove her fingers into his fur. He licked her face and she smiled weakly at him. Yes, she certainly felt some kind of bond. He was surprised he didn’t glow from the joy.

Bobbi cleared her throat. “Fitz, can you please shift? There’s a lot we’d like to ask you.”

A lot of questions he most likely didn’t have answers for. He knew where the biggest rabbit warren was, and how many does regularly came to the loch to drink in a day. He didn’t know where other shifters where, or how to contact them. Or where the mates of these women were. Magic had been draining from the world for a long time, and the number of witches and shifters dwindled right along with it. 

He grumbled, but moved away from Jemma and hung his head, calling for the shift. Nothing happened.

Bloody hell, not this again.

He kept trying, remembering the feel of the shift in the closet. Nothing. He tried to visualize the shift, as he’d asked Jemma to do with her magic.

Still nothing.

After a few minutes, he slumped to the ground and set his head on his paws.

Jemma scooted over and patted him. “Fitz has had some performance issues with shifting,” she said. “He’s been living as a wolf for a long while.”

Fitz’s head snapped up. Performance issues?

Daisy giggled and he gave her a withering glance. She only laughed harder. His magic was rusty when it came to shifting, that was all, he wasn’t having any kind of performance issues. He turned his glare towards Jemma.

“It’s okay,” she said, tapping his nose with a finger and leaving her scent behind. He licked it off his nose. “You’ll be able to do it just fine later, I’m sure.”

He sighed and put his head back on his paws. He’d make her howl later, that’s what he’d do. Jemma would know exactly how well he could perform, along with how well they would fit together. He was made to be pleasing to her. Made to please her. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as he panted with excitement. There was so much for him to learn about her, Jemma was so fascinating.

She scratched his ears again. “Related to Fitz living like wolf-Tarzan, I don’t suppose any of you have any men’s clothing he could borrow?”

Daisy lit another cigarette. “Is having him walking around naked that big of a problem?”

Fitz didn’t think so, but spots of color appeared on Jemma’s cheeks.

Bobbi shot Daisy a look. “You’re in luck, Jemma, I have some things in the car. My boyfriend, Hunter, won’t miss a few things, and he owes me for washing them.”

Fitz couldn’t imagine what kind of man would have the kind of death wish asking Bobbi to do his laundry had to be. Jemma, Bobbi, and Daisy trooped outside, but Fitz stayed put to guard his and Jemma’s home. He watched Elena as she searched through shelves, muttering under her breath about Raina’s book cataloging. At last, she made a tiny triumphant noise and pulled a slim volume from the shelves, it’s green leather cover achingly familiar to Fitz. He could remember his mum reading from the same edition to him when he’d been young. Her soft voice making the simple words sound magical. It’d left him dreaming at night about finding his mate, even if she never had. His father had been another wolf shifter and had left when Fitz had turned ten.

Scenes from those long-ago dreams danced in his memory. In every last one, a witch he’d never been quite able to see the face of, had long dark hair flowing around her. He’d been dreaming of Jemma. Fitz looked over at the open front door.

Elena set the book on the coffee table. “Don’t worry, Mr. Fitz,” she said to him. “She’s new. Her power feels new. She’ll figure it out, but Jemma needs you, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Claro?” She winked at him and strolled out the door. After a moment, Fitz rolled to his feet and trotted after her.

Outside, Jemma was holding up a man’s undershirt and frowning at it. “I think it’ll fit, but I’ll probably have to hem the trousers.” The pile of clothing in the boot of the car that smelled strongly of laundry soap. His ears flattened at the trouser mention. The kilt was barely acceptable, an undershirt might be okay, but trousers? Absolutely not. They’d pinch in places he didn’t want to be pinched, speaking of things that might cause performance issues.

Jemma added the trousers to the pile in her arms, and he sighed.

“I left the volume on familiars beside the other books I brought,” Elena said, tugging her yellow sweater tighter around her. “You should read it soon, your poor wolf needs you to.”

“I will,” Jemma promised, with a look at Fitz. His damn tail wagged. He did need her to understand.

“If I’d known you had a familiar, I would have cooked more,” Bobbi said. “Don’t let him eat everything at once.” She managed to sound much older than Jemma, even though Fitz was certain all the women were about the same age. Bobbi hugged Jemma. “We’re glad you’re here.”

“I think I’m glad I’m here too.” Jemma smiled, the expression a little unsure. She glanced at Fitz again. “Do you…you could catch a ride into town, or to a different part of the forest, if you want. You probably have things to do besides be here teaching me.”

Fitz’s thought his breakfast might come back up. Did is mate not want him with her? His legs shook and he ended up dropping heavily onto the gravel and whining.

There were three loud gasps from the rest of the coven.

“Jemma!” Bobbi scolded. “Why would you ask that?” 

_Yes, why?_ Fitz thought as he tried to breathe around the lump in his throat.

“She needs to bed him. Then she’ll stop saying things like that.” Daisy, face like thunder, got into the car and slammed the door shut.

Elena’s expression was kinder. “He’s not leaving you.”

Fitz’s head rose as tension left Jemma’s shoulders. “Oh.” Her relief made him feel better. Perhaps she’d only been asking to be polite.

“He found you, he’s staying. It’s the way things are.” Elena shrugged. “Read the book.”

Fitz thumped his tail in agreement.

“We’ll see you soon,” Bobbi said with a wave.

“Thank you,” Jemma said, clutching the clothes in her arms tighter.

The women left in the big car they’d come in, and Jemma stood still until even he couldn’t hear the rumble of the engine any longer.

He rose and nosed at her hip. She had to be getting cold.

“I’m going,” she said, making her way back inside. Fitz followed at her heels. He shadowed her as she moved about the kitchen, humming and putting up the food the coven had brought. She swept the floor and wiped down the cabinets, before starring in dismay at the perfectly clean kitchen.

Her singing came to a stop as she returned to the living room and sagged onto the couch. Jemma stared at the books on familiars and witchcraft. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked so small and alone. What she needed was a hug, which he couldn’t give. He put his head on her knee, but she didn’t even pet him.

In desperation, Fitz threw himself onto the floor and urgently imagined wrapping his arms around Jemma and holding her.

The prickly rush of the change swarmed over him, leaving him human and very cold. The house was like an icebox.

“Jemma,” he said, standing.

He was greeted by a shirt and the kilt smacking into his chest, followed by Jemma turning her back towards him.

“You’re naked,” she said, voice raspy. “Again.”

He pulled everything on. The shirt felt a little tight across his chest. He supposed it would do for now. There’d been clothes he’d owned once, but who knows what’d happened to them. Or any of his possessions. Not that there was a lot to miss, but with Jemma being so focused on clothing she might have appreciated the tailored suit he’d had. Which came with trousers. Maybe he was glad he didn’t still have it.

With the shirt and kilt and place, he kneeled in front of the fireplace to get it going. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked Jemma’s back. As he ripped a box up and set a match to the edge, she scooted closer to the flames.

“A little, I hadn’t realized how chilly it’d gotten in here.”

Fitz looked up at her. “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll keep you warm.”


	5. Jemma

The fire popped cheerfully, the glow and warmth welcomed against the chill as Jemma sat in a chair reading one of the books that the coven had brought her. She should probably be pursuing the volume on familiars, since hers sat draped over the sofa, squinting at _The Sun Also Rises_. Of all the strange things, he’d asked about the book she’d been blabbering on about when she’d washed him, but Raina hadn’t had a copy of _The Old Man and The Sea _\-- not surprising as it’d only come out the year before. Jemma had given Fitz the only Hemingway she could find and hoping the bullfighting would keep him entertained.

So far, so good.

Except that she would be getting a great deal more reading done if he wasn’t in the room.

Night had fallen, bringing rain along with it, and the cottage felt like a ship alone at sea with him and her as its only passengers. Which meant there was nobody to see her gaze drift up from the page to wander over to the man. He took up a lot of space for not being much taller than her. The firelight was kind to him. It picked out golden highlights in his brown hair and shadowed him just right to make the white shirt stretched over his chest somehow more scandalous than if he was without it. Her fingers twitched, wanting to explore, and she nearly dropped her book.

At least the kilt covered most of his thighs, which was the best she could hope for. At dinner, when he’d devoured the chicken hash, Fitz had explained he wasn’t ever wearing trousers. The explanation had focused a great deal on freedom of knee movement. Which she entirely didn’t buy. Knees? Really? Did he think she’d been born yesterday?

Fitz shifted and bent a leg further up, causing the kilt to slide down and reveal a couple more inches of thigh.

Jemma dropped her eyes back to the book she was holding. Ah, yes, something-something…words…

She looked back up. “Fitz,” she said, then bit her lip as his head snapped in her direction. She could imagine his ears pricking up if he was in wolf-form. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” He swayed towards her, the flickering light caressing his face. From the kitchen, one of her favorite songs began playing on the radio. The one about being held and never being let go. 

“I was just thinking about what you said at dinner about the trousers.” Jemma nearly burst out laughing at how he deflated, but she couldn’t resist poking fun at him about it, because it appeared to be a lost cause when it came to her thinking about anything else than the shifter in her cottage. “I believe I understand your argument against trousers, regarding movement, but what if I ordered you several pairs of pants from a catalog? It’s heading towards winter, and I’m worried you’re going to get cold. Would the regular style be okay?”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open. “Er,” he started, then stopped. His tongue licked over his full lower lip, and he sucked a cheek in. He struggled for another moment, but then one corner of his mouth curled up as his look turned sly. Jemma’s heart galloped. He had no business looking that good while on her couch. “I’m glad you’re concerned about parts of me freezing, but I assure you everything under my kilt will be fine, especially if I find a nice warm place to keep it.”

Her parts seemed very interested in such an arrangement, but she didn’t want to lose this little verbal jousting game. She fixed Fitz with a glare. “Just make sure not to get those parts too close to the fire. It’d be a lot of screaming.”

Fitz scoffed. “Aye, fine. I…are you teasing?”

“I might be.” She went back to her book, squirming a little in her chair. He was a handsome man, in a very different way than her Will had been. It was too bad her heart had died in the war alongside her fiancé. There was no getting attached to anyone at this late date, and no reason to imagine he’d be that attached to her when whatever this initial blush upon discovering one’s familiar faded.

If it faded? 

What if he wanted something longer term? She hadn’t considered being a wife a possibility since Will, and if she’d once thought about pushing a pram, or spending her days making sponge cake and glazing ham, it’d been so long ago that it felt like another person had been dreaming it altogether. It’d turned out she wasn’t much of a cook, anyway. Nothing ever seemed to come together right. Give her a medication to formulate or a complicated wound to tend, and she was more than competent, but in the kitchen things quickly became a disaster. The last time she’d tried to make dinner rolls, her cousins had broken a bit of brick off the corner of a shed in the back garden by throwing the hard-as-rock bread at it. Her family still hadn’t let her live that one down. However, she had her shiny new blender and no intention of failing this time.

Jemma sighed. If one more person told her that cooking was simply chemistry and following directions precisely, she’d show them her acumen with a scalpel. Making food that both looked good, tasted delicious, and provided proper nutrition, was its own kind of magic, another one she had yet to master.

She glanced up at Fitz, who’d returned to reading. Staying here, he’d be a test subject for her culinary learning. “Would potato pancakes for a late breakfast tomorrow be alright?” she asked.

Fitz put his book open-faced on the back of the couch. He slid off, onto his knees, and shuffled around the coffee table. Jemma had no idea what he was doing, but to her alarm, he kept coming closer. She couldn’t quite get enough breath in as he put a hand on her knee and the other elbow on the arm of her chair. He propped his head on that hand.

“Fitz?” she asked.

“I have a question, Miss Jemma.” His voice was deep and low.

“What’s that?” she squeaked. The lights flickered out, and the radio cut off.

Fitz didn’t seem to notice that only the fire lit up the room. “Why would we be having a late breakfast?”

She’d been thinking sleeping in sounded nice, but his words implied a very different reason. “I don’t know,” she hedged, heat blooming in her cheeks.

One of the fingers on her knee made a little circle. “I can think of at least ten very good reasons.”

“Yes, well.” So could she, none of which she felt remotely ready for. She appeared to be on a collision course with this man, but everything was happening too fast. Jemma had only just gotten here, and only just changed from being a ward-sister to accepting that she’d inherited her family’s power. Adding a brand-new lover to the mix would be too much. She needed space, though it felt like her heart ripped from her chest as she sat up. “I doubt any of those reasons will fix the lights.” 

Fitz’s brows drew together as he looked around. “Dammit.” He sighed and stood. Jemma rose as well, darting around him and lighting an oil lamp. “Let me go check the fuse box,” he grumbled, heading towards the back door of the cottage.

Jemma carried the oil lamp to the bedroom and lit the one there before returning to the living room. She picked up the book on familiars, holding it tightly until Fitz reappeared, wearing a scowl. “Trouble?” she asked.

“It’s not the breakers. I’ll have to figure it out tomorrow when the sun comes up and I can see.” His gaze slid over her. “Now, where were we?”

She crossed her arms, book in hand. “We were at the part where I tell you to sleep on the couch.”

Fitz’s brow shot up. “But—”

“No argument,” she said firmly. Fitz’s mouth closed. “This is my second night in my new home. I have a lot to learn about a life I didn’t ask for. And you…I don’t even know what to make of you.”

“I’d never hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think you would. I need to sort myself out before I worry about entanglements.” Her body rebelled, her feet trying to carry her over to him. But she couldn’t, not yet. He felt so necessary, but she had no more heart to give. Everything would end up in tatters when he figured that out. He probably expected some fairy tale romance that she wasn’t capable of.

“Jemma, please—”

“Don’t. You’ll sleep here, that’s final. Or you can leave.” 

All the color had drained from Fitz’s face, making her regret the harsh words.

“I’ll sleep here and not bother you,” he said. “Can I have the blanket from last night?” He sat heavily on the couch and stared at the fire. She brought him the blanket, and he whispered his thanks. Jemma retreated to the bedroom and felt better once there was a door between them. She loosened her hair and put her nightgown on.

Turning up the lamp, she settled into bed and opened the book on familiars. It started with a lot of stories that read like the tales you told children. She flipped past them until she found the actual information. There were far too few pages to satisfy her curiosity. Jemma tapped her fingers against the hard covers of the book, impatient to discover everything about this new part of her life.

Familiars were not necessarily wolves. They could be almost any animal, though the tendency towards a certain species ran in family lines. She was glad Fitz was a wolf and not something like a frog. What would she do with him if he hopped around all day? Or what if he was a pigeon? She’d visit London with him in tow and lose him among all the flocks there. She snorted at herself, but the laughter died as kept reading, and the information became more alarming. Familiars were born to pair with a witch, their mate, to help the witch channel their power. A familiar would know immediately when they met her that she was their other half. The witch wouldn’t know for sure until she slept with them. That was inconvenient.

Everything about Fitz was inconvenient.

Men were always so bloody inconvenient. Will had shown up at a terrible time as well. She sprawled across the bed, her gaze on the glow of the lamp. The outside had a peony painted on it, much like the ones decorating her smock on the day she’d met her fiancé a decade ago.

The ward had been grim, the men, who were little more than boys, coming back from the front hideously wounded. She’d tried to care for them, moving among the cots to dress wounds and administer pain medication to those in need. So many were in need. Penicillin use had decreased the number of festering wounds, though it also meant some of the soldiers made it back to British soil who would have died before. Some of them still would.

She distinctly remembered the morning Will had been there. Prior to him arriving, a blond man with a bullet hole to his side had died painfully, writhing as blood has filled his chest. The physician had tried to needle-decompress the hemothorax as Jemma had struggled to hold him still, telling him over and over again not to move, but there’d been too much blood as some field-done suture had given way. The body lay covered with a sheet, the orderlies too busy to come and take it away.

Jemma had been silently apologizing to the man, whose name she hadn’t known, when a voice interrupted her.

“Miss, can I have some water?” The voice belonged to one of the Americans, infantrymen who fought alongside the British.

“Of course.” She fetched a fresh cup, returning to the soldier’s bedside. Next to him, another man sat, tall with dark hair. He looked rather smart in his uniform and had smiled at her as she’d handed the water over to the patient.

“This is my friend, Will,” her patient said between sips.

“Hello, and thanks for the glass. My friend’s a pain.” Will held his hand out, and she shook it. His palm had been warm, and his fingers rough. His eyes, haunted as everyone else’s that’d seen action, had bored into hers. He didn’t let go of her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Jemma.”

“Hello, sweet Jemma. Nice to meet you.” He leaned closer, and the stench of blood and other body fluids faded, replaced by his masculine scent of cologne and tobacco.

His friend laughed, breaking the spell. She took back the now empty glass.

“Ask her out,” the patient said, elbowing Will.

She laughed. “Oh, I—”

“Walk out with me tonight, Jemma? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone so lovely.” He smiled, and her heart somersaulted. Will’s handsome face should mean he could have any woman he chose, but he looked at her like she was the only girl in the world.

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to say anything else.

She’d said the same thing a few weeks later when he’d gone down on one knee to propose, saying when he returned, he’d buy her a proper ring to make an honest woman of her. He hadn’t returned.

Jemma had cut out the peony from that smock and saved it, once the garment had become too stained to wear. Though she no longer knew where the cloth flower now resided, besides the fact she probably hadn’t brought it north with her. The lamp flame flickered, and she rolled away from it, picking the book back up.

A familiar, who could have imagined? She read further, sad passages about how it was growing harder and harder for familiars to find their mates. It’d once been common, but not only had the witches been burned for hundreds of years, but their familiars along with them. Cat familiars longer existed so many had been killed. How dreadful. Her stomach churned, both from the long-ago pain of what had happened to so many women just like her, and from the thought of Fitz being hurt.

When she reached the passages about how physically a witch and their mate were what the other desired most. She had to put the book down to stifle her laughter with a hand. What rubbish. She’d never thought a Scotsman with a rich voice, brown hair, and a tendency to get stuck as a wolf as her ideal mate. And honestly, she had doubts about how appealing she could be outside of whatever magic pulled him towards her. Grabbing two handfuls of her nightgown, she pulled it tight against her body. Her breasts and hips were heavier than a decade ago, and the rest of her wasn’t delicate from her years of working in the hospital wards. She’d thought she’d already aged out of the point of time in her life when anyone would believe her to be a catch.

Fitz certainly did make her feel more desirable than anyone had in a long time. Which was confusing, and she hated not having a firm plan for anything. It did seem, according to the book, that Fitz might be around for a very long time. Warmth curled through her. She did need to apologize to him, after reading about familiars, she knew it’d been wrong of her to suggest him leaving. His instincts wouldn’t let him. They were driving him to be close to her, but Fitz had accepted her drawing a line earlier. That couldn’t have been easy, but he’d done it for her. She should tell him she understood about his pull towards her, but that she simply needed a little time to gather herself before she slept with him because sex had been something she’d thought she’d been done with. Fitz was bright, good company, and Jemma fancied they were already friends. 

It cheered her greatly to think she had a friend in her new home.

Jemma slipped out of bed, intent on letting Fitz know everything she’d figured out. She didn’t have a robe, but he’d seen her in her nightgown already, and it covered most of everything. Carefully, she opened her door and padded out into the hallway, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep already. Quietly, she made her way to the living room, stopping with a gasp as she crossed the threshold.

Fitz’s eyes flew open.

She couldn’t see much, but she knew exactly what he was doing under the blanket. There was no mistaking the hand motion he’d froze in the middle of.

His eyes met hers. In the firelight, they were the dark blue of a lake under storm clouds. Her breasts became heavy and there was a needy pulse from between her thighs. Fitz’s nose flared. Could he scent her arousal?

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she said in a rush before fleeing back to the bedroom and decisively shutting the door. She was slick with desire.

Because she’d caught her familiar wanking.

Jemma collapsed onto her back on the bed and hiked her nightgown up. Were fantasies of Fitz a normal thing right now, or a silly indulgence? All she had were his word and a single book that said they were meant for each other, which wasn’t exactly an avalanche of evidence. Though the nagging tug towards him from deep in her belly was hard to ignore. Fitz drew her in.

Images from waking up and finding him naked in her room that morning consumed her. They changed from memories to fantasies, and in her mind, Jemma was much bolder than she’d been in reality. Instead of screaming, she drew her nightgown off and tuned to offer her behind to him.

In her bedroom, her hand grabbed her breast and pinched her nipple hard as she bit back a mewl.

Fantasy-Fitz knew what she wanted and slammed deep inside her, taking her in a way her gentle Will never had in their brief time together. She pushed thoughts of Will away, focusing on how she imagined Fitz would drill into her. Jemma rubbed her clit faster, her hips lifting up. She gave up on fantasizing, the simple idea of Fitz inside her being more than enough to push her towards a climax.

She bent her legs, and her hips jerked as her breath caught in her throat.

Jemma careened over the edge into bliss. She held back the noise she wanted to make, letting out a pitiful ‘oh’ instead. Her heart beat wildly and her chest heaved. A muffled shout and curse from the living room made her head whip towards the door.

Had Fitz come too? The idea of his hand milking his cock as he shot his load had her fingers moving again. A second orgasm overtook her quickly, and then a third.

Spent, she sagged against the mattress.

After a minute, she groaned and worked her way under the quilt. Spent was not the same as satisfied. She snuffed the oil lamp.

In the dark, it was easier to face the fact that the key her satisfaction was lying on a couch in her living room.

Dear lord, what was she going to do with him?


	6. Fitz

A storm brewed overhead, preparing to barrel down on Fitz’s new home. It prickled at his senses and made his coat stand up with static. The dropping temperature and gunmetal scent of the air whispered snow to his wolf’s senses. Usually, a blizzard meant a frantic search for a den and a last meal to tide him over, but now he had a snug cottage and mate to keep him comfortable.

He stood in the back doorway of the cottage while Jemma washed the breakfast dishes and hummed along with the radio. It’d been easy to restore power that morning before she’d woken up, but the coming storm had him on edge and he’d wound up in his wolf-skin again before breakfast. Which had made things easier when Jemma, sleepy-eyed with her hair pulled up, had walked out of the bedroom yawning. Fitz had been bloody embarrassed to be caught with his hand around his prick—thank god he’d been under the blanket—right up until the scent of her arousal had flooded the living room and she’d run back to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Jemma had made the sweetest noises as she’d worked herself with her fingers.

That she’d moaned through three orgasms had sent him over the moon in joy. Jemma deserved to feel good. The first time she’d come had been enough to push him into bliss. He’d frantically humped his hand, not feeling very relieved when he’d finished, but he had to be patient.

Fitz could barely wait until he was the reason she made those delectable noises.

The water faucet for the kitchen sink turned off, and Fitz looked over his shoulder at Jemma. Perhaps she’d want to get started on—drat. She headed for the living room, plucking a shirt from the pile Bobbi had given her yesterday. Jemma held it up, only to yelp as a book clattered to the floor.

He growled at its flowery cover.

Jemma patted him and scooped the book up. A quick thumb through the pages had Jemma frowning. Fitz bumped her leg with his shoulder and tilted his head in question.

“A journal,” she said. “In what looks likes Raina’s writing, but the words don’t make sense. I think it’s in code.”

Fitz reared up, putting a front paw on the table beside the door, and sniffed at the journal. Magic, coppery and flat, pushed up his muzzle. He sneezed, snapped at the book, and sneezed again. The thing reeked of blood magic, which was probably how it was encoded. Jemma, as Raina’s relation, should be able to unlock it. He’d tell her as soon as he could.

The coded words were a mystery, as was the fact that somebody in the coven had slipped Jemma the journal. Her thoughts had to be much the same, judging from her expression as she leafed through the pages a second time.

He dropped to all fours and barked to get her attention, pawing at the ground when she glanced at him.

“You know something about this?” She held the journal up.

He barked again, before hunching up his back as he tried to shift.

Nothing happened.

Jemma tsked. “We'll figure it out later.” She set the book down and picked up the clothes again. Her gaze fixed on his. “Don’t think not being able to shift will get you out of laundry duty.”

Oh, fine.

Jemma gathered up a few more things before exiting the back door. The path she followed in the rear garden had packed dirt that felt smooth beneath his paws. It led to a small shed, which had a door listing on its hinges — the air spilling out carried starch and lye with it. “I’m probably not going to like this,” she said, one toe scuffing the ground. “Washing kettles are terribly dangerous. I can’t count how many times I’ve had patients burned while using one.”

Fitz sat primly, his tail around his paws. His mum had done the washing like that, in a huge tub with a stick to stir the clothes with. It’d taken all day to clean and dry everything, and he’d often resented being asked to help out because he’d be too tired to even read at the end of the day.

“Well,” she bit her lip for a second. “Do you think there’s at least a sink? Hauling water all the way from the kitchen sounds dreadful.” She blew out a breath. If that ended up being the case, he’d have to shift to help her. Somehow.

Jemma opened the door and yanked on a string hanging from an overhead light. The shed lit up. Jemma squealed, the sound happy and excited. “Look, Fitz, a washing machine! A Hoover washing machine! With a wringer. And a great big sink with two halves. Bless Raina.”

As she busied herself with the clothes, Fitz inspected the white-metal, rectangular machine. He’d never seen anything quite like it, but it must be very impressive from how excited Jemma acted about it. Being jealous of a washing machine probably wasn’t polite. Good thing wolves didn’t have to fake smile.

“Let me show you,” Jemma said, dumping the clothes on a table that wobbled on uneven legs. A clock graced one wall, and over the sink hung a shelf with boxes of cleaning supplies on it. The floor of the shed was paving stones covering in dry, white soap streaks. “I had a friend whose mum bought one and when I was short on pay, I’d do my washing at her house, pausing for tea and snacks.”

Snacks he could agree with.

The machine had a lid she pulled off before lifting up a hand-cranked wringer that locked in place. Fitz reared up to peer into the tub of the washer.

“See, there a thing on the side—” she pointed to a round part in the side of the tub only a little bigger than his paw “—that moves the water and clothes around. And with the sink, I can easily rinse everything. This is lovely.” She patted his head. “Now be a good boy and go fetch your shirt and kilt from wherever they ended up this morning.”

Fetch? Who did she think she was to tell a wolf to fetch? He stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

“Fitz,” she said firmly. He dropped to all fours and scuttled out the door. Her tone hadn’t been one to argue with. He grabbed his shirt and kilt from where they’d ended up on the floor when he’d shifted. She cooed over him when he returned with the items, and his hind legs skittered on the paving stones his tail wagged so hard.

Sitting down, he carefully watched Jemma go through the wash routine, from filling the tub with a hose from the sink, adding washing powder from a box with OMO printed in big letters on the side, and feeding in the clothes. She hummed and sang snatches of things to herself as she worked. Washing was four minutes, then there was a trip through the wringer, and rinsing while the next few things washed.

Fitz tried to make himself useful by fishing rinsed clothes out of the sink to hand to her, but she shooed him away with a comment about dog-breath. “What you can do for me, once you have your hands back, is wire in a plug so I can have my radio out here.” She returned to work. Fitz did his best not to bump into her as he craned his neck to study the shed’s wiring. It looked sound and he was certain he could easily fix something up for her. Maybe so she could set the radio on the table?

When Jemma had a basket full of clean, wet clothes, she carried them inside and fussed over setting up a winterdyke—she called it a clothes horse—near the fire to dry everything on. What didn’t fit, she tossed over a retractable clothesline that she pulled from one side of the kitchen to a hook on the other. The cottage, draped in drying clothes, reminded him of when he’d been a very young pup, shifting thoughtlessly back and forth as he’d played with his brothers, hiding behind sheets and giggling.

Happy times, when the house had been a home, and he hadn’t known what an anti-tank mine could do to a truck full of soldiers.

He focused on Jemma’s fern and ice scent as he returned to the shed to close it up. Door latched, she walked to the middle of the rear garden, pulling her black cardigan tighter around herself as she scanned the forest. Fitz sat beside her. He raised his muzzle to a sky filled with lead-grey clouds. The first snowflakes were drifting down to catch in his fur and Jemma’s dark hair.

Nothing stirred in the forest, the animals having hid away from the oncoming storm.

Fitz’s chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath of frigid air. Closing his eyes, he howled, loud and long, letting the storm know he existed and would keep his mate safe. Jemma’s fingers sank into the thick fur of his neck. Power raced down his spine, sparks beneath his skin, as her magic and the earth became one through him.

She sank to her knees. The sound of her breathing filled the silence as the howl faded.

“Oh, Fitz,” she whispered urgently. “I can feel…I feel…I feel the forest bracing for the blizzard.” Her hands twisted his fur. “Foxes in their dens, deer laying down in thickets. The trees themselves knowing the wind comes to take leaves and branches.” Jemma inhaled sharply as her awareness of the world around them grew. “There’s so much life, and not all of it will see tomorrow morning.”

Magic coursed in waves through them, delving into the layers of soil and rock beneath their feet. He howled again, mourning deaths that hadn’t happened yet.

“There are rabbits in burrows, badgers curled up in their homes, owls sheltering in their nests.” She trembled. “It’s so much. Too much.”

Fitz licked her face, breaking her concentration. The power snapped back to her, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. He nosed her cheek.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m…I know that’s what you’re for, to help me connect with…everything.”

She patted him, then pushed to her feet. In the kitchen, Jemma mixed the ingredients for the pancakes she’d talked about yesterday, her hands shaking and her eyes distant. In time she’d know that being connected to her home was a normal thing, but this first time had obviously taken her by surprise.

When finished, she set his plate on the floor, and he tore into the rich, warm cakes. The edges were black, crispy, and full of flavor. They disappeared too fast, and Fitz wished he had another stomach to fill up.

Jemma ate woodenly, set their dishes in the sink, and went to stoke the fire in the living room. He sat down, and she slid down to kneel beside him. Her hand stroked down his back several times. “Is this all right?” she asked. “Can I pet you? Or is that against familiar etiquette?” Fitz wiggled under her touch and turned to lick her face, making her laugh. It was more than all right. While he wanted to touch her when he had less fur and walked on two legs, this was good too. He rubbed his cheek against hers as she hugged him. 

Fitz leaned into her, feeling…safe. Feeling needed.

Jemma stilled, a few moments later she sniffed softly against his fur, sounding like she was close to tears.

Oh no. She shouldn’t be…

In desperation, he dropped out of Jemma’s arms to the ground, rolling over and showing his belly.

“Do you want a belly rub?” she asked, swiping at her eyes.

He wiggled on his back, moving his paws as if he could rub his stomach himself to let her know she’d guessed right.

Jemma’s hands smoothed down the shorter coat on his belly. With a laugh, she scratched him thoroughly. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he stretched out as her fingers worked wonders. He loved her touch, the way it sent warmth coiling through him, how soft her palms were as they slid over his stomach.

Jemma yipped and pushed herself away from him. He sat up, reaching for--

Oh, he’d shifted. Bloody hell.

Aye, she would yell at finding her hands on his naked torso.

Her face was red as she hid it in her palms. His own cheeks burned as he grabbed the kilt from the winterdyke and stood with his back to her to pull it on. “Didn’t expect to shift,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to find her peeking through her fingers at his arse. Fitz cheered up immediately, and he took a little extra time getting a shirt on.

Once more decent, he took a seat on the couch. Jemma perched on the edge of the sofa cushion at the opposite end from him. “Have you always had issues with changing?” she said, her gaze didn’t meet his.

“Nae, this is the first time. Figure it’s because I didn’t shift for so long. I thought I was done with people.” People and the bombs they made and the death they spread. He’d tried when he’d come back to fit in, to find a profession, but the war had only ended in the newspapers, not inside him.

Better to live where there were no people. Well, better before he’d scented his mate.

Her hands twisted in her skirt. “Sorry about the pancakes.”

“Because you had to serve them on the floor? Not your fault, and I didn’t mind. They were amazing.” A bit of salt, the potatoes, it’d all been tasty. “I especially liked the crispy bits. Good crunch.”

Her head whipped towards him, and her nose wrinkled. “Crispy? Are you making fun of me? They were burned.”

“I liked them.” He licked his lips. “You’ll have to make them again.” Now would work, he might still have some room.

Jemma’s expression became confused, but then she shrugged and smiled. “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

“I have excellent taste. Just look in the mirror.” The corny line made him wince, but Jemma only blushed again, deeper this time, and gave him a shy smile that made him want to kiss her.

The air between them changed, thickening with magic and desire. Surely she should feel how their very atoms longed to be bound into one, how their bodies knew they belonged together.

He inched towards her, and she leaned back, lips parting. He focused on them. Their lush hue and faint sheen calling to him. They pulled into a grimace. He shook his head, the spell breaking as she twisted and pulled out Raina’s journal from behind her back. She stared at it.

“We need to talk,” she said softly. “After I collect my thoughts.”

“Right.” He wanted to talk like he wanted a hole in his head.

“I read the book on familiars. I know what I said about leaving was very wrong.” Her gaze met his. “I know we’re inevitable.”

He nodded, swallowing around a lump forming in his throat. “Fated,” he said, longing for her flowing through him, threatening to drown him.

“I’m sorry I’m still getting used to all this. To you. I appreciate that you’ve been a gentleman about it.” Fitz ducked his head. Not everything he’d done had been gentlemanly, especially last night. “I simply don’t know enough about being a witch.” She waved the journal. “I don’t even know how to read this.”

That he could easily fix. “It’s blood locked. Prick your finger and touch the first page.”

“Oh.” Her attention focused on the book, and he could almost see her thinking.

“I’ll get cleaned up,” he said, running a hand over the thicket his whiskers were becoming. “Let you read your cousin’s words.” He headed for the WC, ran a bath, had a quick wank while he was certain he wouldn’t be interrupted and spent far too much time convincing his beard not to be a bird’s nest. Or maybe Jemma liked it scruffy? Mates reflected each other’s ideal. He groaned as he grabbed one of the curls on his head and tugged at it. Jemma had some explaining to do.

He left the loo, heading straight for his mate, already missing her.

She caught sight of him and bolted to her feet, scrambling around the couch until it stood between them. The color drained from her face and cold fear snared his gut. Something was wrong.

“Jemma?” he said, voice trembling.

“Who are you?” she asked. No emotion showed on her face.

“Fitz,” he replied as the floor beneath his feet seemed to disappear, and his stomach plunged into an abyss. “Your mate.” He couldn’t catch his breath and he wanted to show her his belly. Whatever he’d done, he was sorry, sorry, sorry.

She clutched the journal to her chest. “What do you know about Raina?”

“Nothing.” Unable to completely ignore his instincts, he sat on the floor and curled into a ball, his fingers digging into his hair. “Jemma, talk to me.”

“Raina died, that’s how I ended up a witch.” She spoke in a near whisper. “Nobody knows what happened, but I’m reading…there was a man here, to work on the wiring—”

“The git did a shoddy job,” Fitz grumbled, unable to hide his disgust at the work even as his head spun.

A tiny bubble of laughter broke free from Jemma, and his lips twitched briefly into a smile. “It’s just…he said he was a familiar. Her familiar, but he’d lost his animal side.”

The words blindsided him. “Lost it? It’s not like it’s a house key. You don’t just lose it.” He wrapped his arms tight around himself as if he could hold his wolf in.

Jemma sighed. “I only know what Raina wrote. He wanted her to fix him. So they could be together, witch and familiar. But some of what she’s writing doesn’t make logical sense. And he kept getting mad at her for not doing spells or a ritual he wanted. I think he wasn’t being straight with her.”

“No animal,” he said. “There can’t…I’d sooner my heart be cut out…” He dragged his gaze up to where Jemma still stood behind the couch, her lips set in a grim line. “Wait.” He tried to focus past the seething mass of fear clouding his thoughts. “You don’t think it’s me Raina was writing about?”

“You’re the only shifter I know.”

He staggered to his feet, not sure what to do. He wanted to go to Jemma, hold her, only she looked afraid. He couldn’t stand it. “I have my wolf. It’s not bloody well misplaced. And I would never have botched wiring like this imbecilic did, and—” He paused for breath.

“And what?” Blessed doubt laced her words.

“I went into the woods in 1948. I haven’t walked on two legs until I changed for you.” He silently implored her to believe him.

“1948? That was half a decade ago.”

“It was a lot of squirrels and voles ago. I was aware of the seasons turning, but not exactly how many it’d been.” So many moon-drenched nights, so many days with the sun sparkling on the loch. It all felt like a dream now, and he at last understood what had been missing. Why, even when the loons were calling and the deer were growing fat for winter, he’d never felt quite at home. Jemma hadn’t been there, and there could be no home without her.

Jemma traced one of the flowers on the journal’s cover with a finger. “I don’t think it was you,” she said, following the words with a deep sigh. “But how can I be sure with the pull between us?”

“Did your cousin not describe the berk?”

Jemma shook her head. “No. She calls his eyes dark and haunted, but that’s it.”

Fitz pointed at his eyes. “Not dark. Might be haunted.” He’d carry the names and faces of so many men that had died with him to his own grave.

“I think it’s she’s speaking metaphorically.”

He crossed his arms. “Then I have no way to prove it to you. No way to prove I hadn’t been in this house or walked on two-legs for five years.” Icy fear gripped his shoulders and dug its claws in.

Her brows drew together. “You were a sapper,” she said slowly, completely changing the subject.

“Yes. Italy, mostly.”

She nodded. “Did you know anyone that went to Korea?”

“Korea?” There’d been problems there, civil war, after the fighting has stopped. “What?”

“Would you have gone?”

He knew he had to be missing something. “Why would I have gone?”

“The Korean war?”

He stared at her, horror settling dip in the pit of his stomach. “Another war?” Hadn’t they stopped that? Fitz shrank back, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious. There wouldn’t have been another—”

“There was. Mostly Americans, some UN forces. A lot of people died.” Her eyes were flat.

He wanted dirt between his toes, the wind in his fur. He’d been right to run. Humans killed. They slaughtered each other like vermin.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma said, voice rough as she edged around the couch. “I needed to…I’m sorry.” She squeezed his arm once before she scuttled down the hallway, her skirt swishing loudly around her legs.

Fitz let her go, even as his wolf-self demanded he give chase. It’d only frighten her more. His feet heavy, he went to the window and pulled back the curtains, watching fat flakes of snow descend. They’d blanket the house and forest, a deep quilt of white to cover the earth as it went to sleep. After long moments, he went to lie on the couch. He closed his eyes, willing sleep, but the cushion under him jammed into his back. He turned on his side, but now his legs wouldn’t fit right. The other side didn’t feel much better. 

The light beneath Jemma’s door clicked off.

Fitz sighed and scrunched as he fit himself into the cramped space that was the couch. Maybe he should shift, then he could sleep on the rug in front of the fire. Or run out into the darkness, where there were no wars except to survive one day to the next.

Leaving Jemma wasn’t an option.

May she’d be the one to leave. Pack her car, head back to London, abandoning him with the horror of knowing a shifter could lose his wild. His soul. It was like finding out you could still walk around after your lungs were yanked from your chest.

What were souls worth when people died by the millions.

He twisted again, staring into the fire and trying not to think of how cold he’d be without Jemma. Or how he would have answered the call to help fight again, if he’d been asked. He’d had so little left that he would have gone to spare someone younger than him, and most likely he would have never returned.

Never known Jemma.

The flames burned low in the grate, but still sleep evaded him like clever rabbit.

Down the hallway, Jemma’s door banged open, and he lunged to his feet, fists curling in readiness to protect her as his heart galloped.

“Fitz?” she said, voice pleading.

He was beside her in an instant, wrapping his arms around her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nightmare, I’ve had them since…this one...”

He held her tighter, unable to save her from the ghosts in her mind.

Jemma buried her face against his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

Her hands gripped his shirt. “Can you hold me?” she whispered. “Just for the rest of the night while we sleep. I’m sorry I doubted you earlier.”

“I’d howl the moon down from the sky for you.” He’d do anything for her, holding her would be heaven, and she’d been right to doubt, to keep herself safe. She should always be safe.

Jemma stepped back, wiped her cheeks, and went to straighten the covers. Her nightgown tugged tight across her rear as she walked, and he had to force his gaze away. She needed him, but not his prick, not at the moment. He focused on the mess of quilts and covers that lay tangled at the end of the bed.

“It looks like you fought with the bed and the bed won,” he said, picking them up and spreading them out.

Jemma nodded listlessly and crawled under the covers. She rolled so her back was to him, and after a minute, he dropped his kilt so he wouldn’t end up with it tangling her legs. He quickly slipped beneath the quilt and scooted over until he could spoon Jemma and put an arm around her. He didn’t press all of himself tightly against her. Not yet. That could wait unit she was ready.

She was still for two long breaths but then relaxed against the bed and into his arms. His entire being sang with joy. His mate, safe beside him.

Her hand covered his. “Thank you.”

“This is what I’m for, m’eudail.”

She twisted towards him slightly. “Did you just say ‘my ladle’?”

“Yes, you’re my little spoon.” A closer translation would be darling, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.

Jemma snorted and laid her head back down, the sweet ice and fern fragrance of her filling his senses. He breathed her in and held her, his wee spoon, as tight as he dared.

*

Scot Under the Collar Aesthetic by the talented [@antoine-triplett](https://antoine-triplett.tumblr.com/)


	7. Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: As this is a serialization of this story and you can't rush through it to get to all of the ideas, I thought I should point out that I, nor my characters, think that m/f penetrative sex is the be all end all of sexual expression. Or that oral sex is not just sex. How magic works in this universe is deeply tied to my experience of neo-paganism in the last 90s-early 2000s. The Great Rite was a big thing. However, this 1953 Jemma doesn't have the vocabulary or concepts here to ask certain things, including what if I was trans or gay? Later Fitz will explain intentionality. And wow, I really expect more from a fic audience in thinking in non-cis, heteronormative ways and going HEY than I do the general public 😂😂 Y'all are the best._

The bed had gotten far too warm for Jemma’s liking. Her nightgown clung under her breasts and had ridden up above her waist while sweat had gathered behind her knees. 

Her eyes popped open as a heavy body draped itself further over her and muttered something in its sleep. No wonder she was toasty, her familiar was acting like a quilt. A hairy, male-scented quilt. Her nipples tightened into aching points.

Jemma had no idea what to do. She knew what she badly wanted to do, but she needed a little air and space to think clearer. Just a little.

“Fitz?” she whispered, wiggling slightly. He huffed and pulled her closer, his large hand closing around her breast. Heat flared to life deep in her belly. Fitz’s hips flexed once and what could only be his very erect cock poked at her backside.

She no longer wanted space.

Shagging had not been what she’d been thinking of when she’d asked him to hold her. The nightmare had been a familiar one, in which she rushed from cot to cot, always just a few seconds too late to save the dying patient on it.

Lying alone in the dark after waking up had been worse — she’d kept thinking she heard the clinking of a needle against the glass side of a vial, or a voice saying ‘nurse’. Shadows that never left. She’d needed someone very alive and distracting to chase away the remnants of her dream.

Jemma closed her eyes. She’d known how things would go, hadn’t she? That inviting Fitz to sleep beside her would lead to more than sleep. She’d known she wanted more than sleep. Jemma felt like she’d been sleeping for ten years, and now she wanted to wake up.

Fitz snored softly behind her. He needed to be a lot more aware if she was going to do anything with him. “Fitz,” she said, elbowing him slightly. That earned her another hip thrust from him, and the feel of his hot shaft against her bare bum threated to drive her around the bend. Between her legs was aching, and she could feel how slick she was.

Would he turn her over and look into her face as he pushed inside her? Or take her from behind like the wild creature he was? Her pussy throbbed. Eventually, she wanted to be on top of him, all of his strength and maleness trapped between her thighs. With a soft moan, she pushed her rear back to grind against his cock.

Fitz’s breathing hitched and changed as he finally got the message that she wanted him. The hand on her breast gripped it tighter, and she whimpered with need.

“Jemma!” Fitz barked, springing back from her. He pulled most of the covers with him, wrapping them around his waist. She rolled onto her back and pushed herself up on one hand. His face was sweetly confused, but his pupils were wide, and in the early morning light filtering around the curtains, they were as blue as the sky on a warm summer’s day.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully, resisting the urge to push her nightgown back down.

His nose twitched, and his eyes dropped down to the juncture of her thighs. “Sorry?” he tried.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I was participating.”

“Oh.” The hair on his chest was gleaming dark amber in the sunlight, and she watched, fascinated as his muscles shifted when he let the quilt go. She only had a quick glimpse of his ruddy-headed erection before he crawled towards her on hands and knees.

His face hovered over hers, his gaze studying her face.

“Mate,” he said reverently before ever so carefully pressing his lips to hers.

It was soft, very gentle, and started a wildfire inside her. Jemma sank her hands into his hair and gripped tightly to him as the kiss deepened. Fitz’s mouth was the perfect fit for hers, and the instant he parted his lips, she swept her tongue between them.

Fitz groaned, the sound full of rough need that added fuel to the fire inside her. 

One of her hands trailed down the back of his neck to his shoulder, and she moaned at the tight feel of the muscles.

“Is this okay?” he panted, breaking the kiss. “Show me it’s okay.” He tugged at her nightgown, obviously wanting it off.

Jemma reluctantly let him go and reached for the hem. Her fingers froze. Nobody had seen her naked in a decade. Fitz frowned as she hesitated and made a sad, plaintive sound. “Wait a tic,” she scolded. “I’m getting my courage together.”

“Courage?”

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, and I’ve never been the sort men pant after.”

Fitz’s head cocked to the side. “I’m your _familiar_,” he said, stressing the last word like she should understand what he was on about.

“Which means?”

“You’re made for me. Everything about you…for me, it’s all perfect. You’re perfect, Jems.”

She cupped his cheek. “I must be very shallow.” Every part of him made her dizzy with desire.

He grinned. “Me too. You’re exquisite. Now let me see.” He gathered her nightgown in his hands and pulled it over her head. It ended up tossed into a corner of the room as Fitz’s eyes roamed over her body. He growled deep in his throat before pouncing.

Jemma ended up flat on her back, and after a fleeting kiss to her mouth, he pushed himself down the bed until his face was level with her chest. He nuzzled her breasts, rubbing his face against them while making delighted noises. Finally, he got a nipple between his lips and sucked.

Her hips rose off the bed as she yelped. Her hazy memories of sex didn’t include anything like this.

“This good?” Fitz asked, more to her tit than to her, before switching sides. His hand cupped the breast he’d just abandoned to roughly knead it, and Jemma was helpless to do anything besides feel.

“Fitz,” she begged as pleasure coiled inside her. “Fitz, please.” She spread her legs apart, opening herself and hoping he understood her invitation, understood that she needed more.

He kissed each of her breasts one last time and pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at her. His nose flared as he took several deep breaths, but instead of pushing his cock inside her like Jemma had been expecting, he worked his way further down her body. A smile stole over his face as he gazed at her slick folds.

It widened as he looked up at her. “Lovely.” A shudder passed through him. “My Jemma.”

“I’m glad you think so, but can we—” she broke off and yelped as Fitz dropped down and licked the flat of his tongue over her sex.

She was stunned. Of course, she’d known that was a thing people did, even if there hadn’t been time for her to experience it before she’d lost her fiancé, but…she’d had no idea it’d feel so amazing.

Fitz paused, rubbed his nose against her clit, and then kept going with his tongue. He licked every bit of her pussy and even poked the tip of his tongue into her channel before settling into to work with determination on her nub.

He kicked the quilt off him, and Jemma pushed herself up on her elbows to get a better view. Fitz’s brown curls contrasted starkly against her pale legs, and she inhaled sharply at the way his bicep bulged as he curled an arm around her thigh and pressed her leg back.

She moaned as he pressed his face harder against her pussy with an expression of pure joy. Her eyes followed the line of his spine, down to where his hips were humping against the bed. His legs were splayed slightly, the muscles in his thighs taut.

Jemma flopped back against the pillow.

Fitz hadn’t been kidding. He’d been plucked right from her dirtiest fantasies, the ones guaranteed to get her off when she had her hand under her knickers to rub against her clit. Those imagined scenarios and her own fumblings seemed like a faint shadow of what Fitz was doing to her. Her hips jerked slightly as he licked her with firm strokes.

He paused to tap at her clit with his tongue and then suck on it. She groaned and fisted the bedclothes. “More,” she gasped. “More, Fitz, more.”

He made the most fantastic noise against her pussy paused for a few seconds, his breath warm, then returned to driving her barmy with his tongue. Only this time, he pressed a finger into her opening. Her pussy clenched around it, and she nearly sobbed at the loss when he pulled it back out. It returned a moment later, accompanied by a second one.

Jemma mewled and wiggled. He was driving her higher than she’d thought possible. Her legs quivered. She was close, so close.

Fitz murmured something against her pussy before laving her clit with short, sharp strokes while pumping his fingers in and out of her.

“Oh, Fitz,” she breathed. The climax hit her with the delicacy of an atom bomb. Her vision whited out, and for what felt like an eternity she was in the stratosphere.

When she finally collapsed onto the mattress, chest heaving as she gulped in air, she pried her eyes open to find Fitz grinning smugly down at her.

Feeling as limp as a cooked noodle, she managed to lift a hand to stroke his cheek. “Your turn?” she asked.

Pink tinged his cheeks. “Er, actually—” His blush deepened.

“Actually, what?”

“I, um, I came against the bed while I had my tongue on you. You tasted so good I was done for.” The last sounded defensive, but she only directed his face to hers so she could press their lips together. He tasted of her desire, musky and rich. 

“I think that’s the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to me.” How could she be anything other than delighted that he’d been satisfied simply by how she tasted?

Fitz nuzzled her cheek. “If you’ll still have me later, I’ll show you what I can do with parts of me beside my mouth.”

“Your mouth is very nice.”

He inhaled a shuddering breath. “Thank you. I promise you’ll never want for anything. I’m going to make you feel so good, always.”

She stroked his hair. “I have no doubt, but now I need the loo.”

Fitz rolled off her, and she giggled as he wiggled against the bed. His delight was her delight.

Somehow her legs made it across the hall, and she flicked on the light to the bathroom. Nothing happened. She flipped the switch several more times, then sighed and relieved herself in the dark.

Back in the bedroom, she found Fitz sitting on the side of the bed and stretching.

“Power’s out again,” she told him. “I was amazed this place had electricity, but now I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the effort.”

Fitz shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll fix it, but I think the blub in here blew while we were—” He gestured at the bed.

“The lamp wasn’t even on. Honestly.” She opened the curtains for the light and gasped. White covered the forest. Fitz came to stand behind her, and she leaned back into his warmth as he slid an arm around her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“First snowfall,” he said, his thumb stroking her hip. “It’s always magical, how the forest transforms under her dress of white.”

She nodded, and they both stood still, looking out over the cottage’s side garden to where a heavy blanket of snow frosted the pine trees like icing. Jemma might have spent the entire day gaping at how the white of the snow contrasted against the deep brown of the tree’s bark, or exactly how the sunlight broke apart and skipped over the ice crystals if Fitz’s stomach hadn’t grumbled its need for breakfast.

She turned in his arms. “Clothing, and I’ll stoke up the fire and make us toast over it while you see if you can get the electricity working so I can make tea.”

Fitz grabbed a shirt from a drawer and pulled it and his kilt on. Jemma found herself captivated until he wandered down the hallway towards the living room.

Once he and his distracting body were out of sight, she made a hasty grab for her underthings, catching sight of herself with her bed mussed hair and wide smile in the mirror.

That had been even better than what she’d intended when she’d asked him to hold her, even if she did now need to change the sheets. She paired a white blouse and dark green jumper with a black skirt and tied her hair back with a ribbon that matched.

It wasn’t until she was pulling the bottom sheet off the bed, with its sticky wet spot, that she remembered that if Fitz had gotten his cock inside her, then they would have been bound.

He hadn’t.

They weren’t.

She left the sheet in a crumpled ball in the corner of the bedroom and strode out of the door. Fitz was in the living room, cursing under his breath as he studied a section of wire.

“I have a question,” she said from behind him.

“Aye?”

“Why didn’t you…you know?”

He turned to face her. “Why didn’t I what?”

“Put your, um…” She trailed off, feeling silly. He’d just had his tongue all over her pussy. It was somewhat late for her to have an attack of propriety. “Why didn’t you have regular sex with me? So I’d have the same mate-feeling you do.”

Fitz’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, luv. I bloody well meant to, it’s just been a while, and your scent and the noises you make were so…I didn’t mean to, er, spend on the sheets.” His eyes dropped. “I’ll make it up to you soon. I promise. Can try now if you want.”

“It’s not because…do you not want me as your mate?”

Fitz’s head snapped up, and his face became thunderous. “Of course I want you. Christ, Jemma, I expected to live forever among the trees with little but the sky for company. I was alright with that. I didn’t give that up for no blasted reason.”

She crossed her arms over the knot forming in her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you're stuck with me. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.” She’d pulled him from a comfortable life; he had every reason to be mad. Jemma had always been second choice. Even her mate’s second choice. She wiped at tears.

His face paled. “No, this isn’t…I’ll never regret anything to do with you.” His fingers twitched. “Can I touch you,” he asked, voice small. She nodded and fell into his arms when he opened them. “I just hope you don’t regret me.”

Jemma snuggled against him. How could she ever regret him when he already made her life so much richer just by existing?

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Her nerves were raw. Open. Whatever dressing had covered them had loosened when he’d arrived, and after this morning, it’d been ripped completely off. But as much as she felt exposed and hurting, he must feel the same. Everything changing so fast, no time for them to catch their breath.

He held her as if he’d never let go.

“Did you find the problem?” she asked after a while. “With the wire,” she clarified as Fitz stiffened.

“Oh, yeah, this time. The entire system is rubbish. Give me two minutes, and I can have everything running.”

Carefully, she stepped back, then went to stoke the fire. It wasn’t as cold in the cottage as she’d been expecting. Perhaps the snow insulated the roof. Fire roaring, she set about folding and putting away the laundry from the day before.

The lights in the hallway came on as she tucked away the last pair of socks.

Fitz was already in the kitchen with the stove on when she entered, stirring eggs in a bowl. Jemma made them strawberry smoothies to go with the eggs. 

“What’s the plan for today?” Fitz asked as they ate.

“Bring in firewood. I’ll read more of Raina’s journal, that’s about it.”

He nodded. Silence followed that didn’t sit right. Somehow being so intimate with each other had driven a wedge in where it didn’t belong. She had no idea how even to start fixing it.

Mid-morning, Jemma bundled up against the cold to carry firewood. Outside, the air flowed crisp and clear. She stepped from the back stoop onto the sea of white that her back garden had become. Snow crunched under her feet, and she smiled at Fitz. He’d insisted on helping, but had waved away the suggestion of a scarf or hat, insisting he’d be fine.

She thought he’d forgotten how cold he’d get without his wolf pelt. 

After the first load, Fitz started shivering. After the second, he looked a little blue. She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him ‘told you so’, which probably wouldn’t make things any smoother between them.

As she headed in, arms full, for the third time and he was exiting the door, Fitz’s head snapped towards the forest as his body stilled completely.

“What is it?” Jemma asked in a low voice.

“Squirrel,” he answered, his nose twitching. His eyes turned pleading.

Part of her wanted to say no, to keep him at her side, but she knew it was wrong to be jealous of the forest. The trees and dirt wound through her magic, she couldn’t be their enemy, and she had to remember that Fitz was a wolf, a wild thing.

If he didn’t return, after a morning of seeing her naked, then it was never meant to be, and she could chalk this familiar and mate business up as so much malarkey.

After she’d put her broken heart back together.

“Go have fun,” she said, patting his chest. “I call when dinner’s ready.”

Fitz kissed her sloppily, his body humming with energy. “You’re the best mate I could have ever asked for.”

He yanked his shirt over his head and draped it over the logs in her arms. Shaking himself, he sprinted for the tree line. He shifted mid-stride. One second human, wolf the next. He had to pause and shake the kilt off his hind legs, giving her a guilty look over his shoulder as he did so.

“Just don’t forget to bring it in later,” she hollered.

Fitz’s tail twitched. He looked back at her and then disappeared noiselessly among the trees.

Inside, she deposited her load of firewood.

“Stop worrying,” she said out loud to herself. “He’s not a child. He’ll come back.”

She hoped he’d come back.

To give herself something to do, she flipped the radio on in the kitchen and sang along with Dean Martin as she washed and dried dishes.

Movement outside the window caught her attention. She rubbed the condensation from the glass and gave a startled laugh when Fitz came flying by, snow churning in his wake. He raced back and forth across the yard, bounding into the air.

His joy was infectious. A smile stretched her cheeks, and she sang along with the music now, her hips swaying. It’d been a long, long time since she’d danced. Eons. It felt like the Roman Empire had risen and fallen it’d been so long ago.

She hadn’t even known she’d stopped.

When the kitchen sparkled, she sat at the table with Raina’s journal. The entries cut off a few days before her death.

One of the last ones was for a spell with a laundry list of ingredients and a myriad of intricate instructions. Jemma couldn’t figure out what any of it was for. The ingredients were a hodge-podge of ones representing all the elements, and the incantations were gibberish.

Had Raina gone mad?

The journal didn’t answer that question.

A scratch at the door broke her concentration. A whine followed the skritches.

Jemma hurried to let Fitz in. He shook on the step before trotting inside, kilt between his teeth.

“Can you look at a spell?” she asked, gesturing towards the table.

He bobbed his head, then disappeared into the bedroom. 

A minute later, he returned in his human form, dressed, his eyes bright and wearing a wide grin. “I shifted,” he said. “Easily.” He laughed. “It’s beautiful out there. The sun is shining, the air full of winter.”

“It sounds magical.”

“I want to share it with you, er, not this minute, but all my favorite places and all the secrets I know. There’s so many. Oh, Jemma, you’ll love it.”

“I…” She had no idea how to respond as hope bubbled up inside her, pushing all the worry from earlier away. He wanted her with him. He wanted to share the forest with her, not split himself between the forest and her.

If the puzzle of the spell hadn’t been nipping her mind, she might have grabbed him and had her way with him on the table.

If only Raina hadn’t been murdered, leaving a sparse few clues in her journal.

So instead of kissing her mate, Jemma sat down in a chair and gestured at the spell. “I can’t figure it out.”

Fitz’s dropped into another chair and pulled the journal over to him. His eyes scanned over the page once, twice, then a third time. “It makes no sense,” he said. His fingertips brushed the page. “This would be difficult to perform. It’d take a lot of energy, but why? Why would anyone do this, and for what reason?”

“No clue.” She sighed. “I need the coven for this, don’t I?”

“It’d help.”

“How do I contact them? Post a letter when the snow’s gone?”

Fitz looked shocked. “I keep forgetting you’re so new. Here.” He held out his hand. She took it, frowning as he led her to where a small silver bowl sat on the mantle. “Can you sense it now?”

“Sense what?”

“Put your hand over it.”

Jemma slowly raised one hand and put her palm close to the bowl. The spark and hum of magic pricked at her palm. “I feel it.”

“Good, it’ll get easier to sense things, I promise.”

“I still don’t know what to do.” She dropped her hand back to her side.

Fitz scratched his cheek. “I imagine you write out a note and burn it in the bowl while you focus on who you want it to go to. Most likely only other coven members. It’s not like the King would have one.”

“Queen,” she corrected automatically. Fitz brows drew together. “George the Sixth died last year,” she said softly. “And Elizabeth the Second was crowned.”

“That must have been quite a to-do.” He looked away from her, out the front window, at where he’d been when those wheels had turned.

“Mostly, I remember the ninny's that got themselves drunk, hurt and in my ward.” She snorted. “Silly fools.”

Fitz touched her cheek. “They should have been honored to have you caring for them.”

Ah, yes, nursing, well known for the respect others had for its ranks. She waved the comment away. “I supposed I should write Bobbi.”

Jemma kept the note short, asking for help in understanding the spell, and burned it while imagining it appearing in Bobbi’s house. The flame consumed the paper. The blackened edged curling up until not even ash remained.

“I didn’t feel anything,” she said to Fitz. Could she have messed it up? “Was I supposed to feel something? Magic?” She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he stroked his fingers gently down her back.

“You did fine.”

She closed her eyes. “I hope I’m doing any of this right.”

Amazing art by @badwolfjedi! Thank you! Chapter six has more fantastic art by @antoine-triplett. You both made me cry 😭 Thank you for the support on this crazy little story! 


	8. Fitz

The snow was well on its way to melting. The entire afternoon had been full of the sound of wet snow sliding off tree branches.

Fitz paced in front of the living room window. A quick response had let Jemma know the coven would arrive shortly, and she’d gone wide-eyed and started dusting and sweeping dirt he couldn’t see. He’d tried to help her as she fussed, but she’d told him no in a rather firm tone, and he’d started pacing while listening for an approaching engine.

The swirling dust motes tickled his nose, and he sneezed loudly, interrupting Jemma’s humming. She shot him a look as he walked to the door to open it. The dust bunnies needed to be set free.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Jemma came to stand next to him. “It is rather a lot, isn’t it?” she asked, waving a hand through the dust in the air.

“You could just magic it all outside.” 

Jemma heaved a sigh. “I know, I know. Magic would make this easier.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “But I don’t know how. Those aren’t spells I know. I doubt I can even summon that much energy yet. I barely have the thinnest connection, and that’s only because you helped me find it with the ice.”

He turned to face her, and cupped her cheek, directing her gaze to his. “That’s what I’m for. To help. I can feel the power rolling through you, strong and fierce. I keep wanting to bow at your feet for being allowed to breathe the same air as you.”

Her face flushed. “Fitz.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “And this isn’t a set spell. It’d be like the ice. You want all the dust inside to be outside. It’ll listen to you.” His hands slid down to cradle her hips.

“First bloody time for everything,” she muttered under her breath, but she didn’t move. Her eyes closed. A thread of her power, as solid and rough as a granite boulder, searched for him. He had to concentrate, reaching out with his own magic, his wolf, to circle that nascent trickle of power--that he was certain would one day become a torrent--and help her push it out into the room to do her bidding.

“Imagine all those little dust-bunnies getting together and running out the door,” he coaxed as he herded Jemma’s power in the right direction like a dog nipping at the heels of sheep.

She breathed in, her connection to the earth deepening and sending chills running through him.

“That’s it,” he murmured.

Her power flared, expanding to cover the room, and they both opened their eyes. The dancing bits of dust started to float together. Other specks lifted from the tops of books and from along the baseboards. They collected, forming loose rabbit shapes before bounding out the door to dissipate on the gravel drive.

“Oh,” Jemma said as the last one blew apart in the wind.

Her power blazed bright one last time before she pulled it back into herself. The loss made Fitz’s head spin and his knees jelly. He stumbled into her, pushing her against the door.

Jemma made a raspy, pleased noise, and her lips brushed his neck.

His fingers tightened on her hips. Later he’d hold her like that as he pounded into her. He’d found her. His mate.

Dear God, so many times his life had nearly ended in the fields and towns of Italy.

The image of a thin wire stretched across the doorway of an empty shell of a house, the light of the setting sun hitting it just right to make it gleam. A second earlier or a second later, and he would have never found his Jemma. He would have been nothing but worm food.

But the sun had caught it just right, and he’d sat down and disarmed the trap while the scent of dinner on the stove had drifted out of an open window, and he could hear the sounds of children laughing down the street.

He shook.

“Fitz?” Jemma asked.

“I found you,” he gritted out. “I didn’t die that afternoon. I found you.” Tears threatened.

Jemma’s arms wrapped around him. “And you’re here with me now. I’m so happy you’re here with me.” He tucked his face against her neck, taking deep breaths of her ice and fern scent. Nothing else in the world smelled exactly the same.

He was home.

Tires crunching on gravel and the drone of an engine rattled his skull. With a roar he pushed away from his mate and ran towards the intruder, his teeth lengthening, his claws sharpening. He shook off his clothes and lunged, snarling, at the door of the car. His mate was not yet his and he couldn’t let her be taken.

The car’s window rolled down a fraction of an inch.

“Jemma?” a soft voice called.

A hand landed on his tense shoulders as his mate knelt beside him. She stroked his neck. “I’m safe, it’s just Bobbi, showing up to help like we asked.”

The fight went out of him. Right. Help. He licked Jemma’s check and whined softly. She continued to pet him as Bobbi opened the car door and stepped out. She was alone, dressed like a housewife in a plain blue dress and kerchief, and carrying rolls that smelled delicious.

“Hello, Fitz,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m glad Jemma has someone watching out for her. The coven has been talking on and off about protection spells for the house, because of…” She trailed off. “Well, you know why.”

Jemma stiffened, then stood. “Why haven’t you?”

“You have to be part of the spell, and we weren’t sure you were ready.”

Fitz growled softly. Jemma was ready, but she had to decide that, not him.

Mouth a tight line, Jemma nodded. “I’m very well aware I have a long way to go in terms of being magically competent. I am learning.” Fitz bumped against her legs, trying to reassure her. She glanced down at him. “Go change. You’ll need new clothes.”

He trotted inside while Jemma collected his sodden things, and Bobbi followed, rolls in hand.

In the bedroom, he shifted, pulled on dry things, and looked in the mirror. His curls had gone feral, and he borrowed Jemma’s brush to get them back into a semblance of order, which absolutely wasn’t a way to stall going out there and having to talk to Bobbi. Dropping the brush, he turned to look out the window at the trees. They beckoned to him, whispering that he could leave his problems behind.

He closed his eyes. No problems meant no Jemma. It was possible that since they hadn’t yet sealed the bond they could live apart. Perhaps…if he got far enough away.

Fitz snorted. _Yeah, like the moon._

Shaking to rid himself of the cold dread in his stomach from the mere idea of being anywhere without his mate, he turned and strode into the living room.

Jemma and Bobbi were seated on the couch, both looking at Raina’s journal. They looked up as he entered.

Bobbi raised a brow as she gave him the once over. “You’re very…Scottish?” He scowled, and she laughed. “That didn’t help.”

“Hello, Bobbi,” he said after a moment. “Um…I’m Fitz, uh, Jemma’s mate.” He wanted to kick himself. Bobbi knew all that.

Jemma stood and walked over to him, taking his hand. “He’s not talked to anyone but me for quite a long time,” she said to Bobbi, then her eyes met his. They were warm, and she squeezed his fingers. Jemma was on his side.

“Hello, Fitz,” Bobbi said, her voice softer with no trace of humor left. He risked looking out of the corner of his eye at her. “I’m very glad you found Jemma.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad too.” He tried a small smile.

Bobbi gave him one back. “What do you think of this?” She waved the journal at him.

He swallowed. “I can’t scent anything over the blood magic that sealed it, but the words stink. I don’t know who the hell this shifter with no animal is, but he must be mad.”

“Raina never told us any of this. Not about the shifter, or this spell.”

Jemma tugged him over to the couch, she sat beside Bobbi again, and after a few seconds of dithering, he sat on the floor beside Jemma’s legs, his back against the couch.

“I’ve had a bit of time to think about it,” he said. “A familiar with no animal is not an accident. This berk gave it up somehow.”

“Have you heard of that before?” Bobbi asked.

“No.” He couldn’t even imagine what would ever drive a shifter to that point. “I can tell you he’d regret the decision. It’s like selling your soul. He’d want to get it back.”

Jemma threaded the fingers of one hand into his hair. “Why would Raina want to help him?”

“Well.” Bobbi shuffled her feet. “Raina…she…I know she badly wanted to find her mate. She always had some scheme in the works, even making plans to travel just so she could walk around cities in the faint hope of finding him. I could see…what if this man said he was her mate, but needed his animal back first?”

Fitz huffed. “He wouldn’t have known if she was or not without that part of himself.”

“He manipulated her,” Jemma said. Her fingers tightened and relaxed. “It still doesn’t explain why she died.”

Bobbi’s feet moved again, her toe tapping.

“Do you know something?” Fitz asked her, looking over Jemma’s knees at Bobbi’s face. The color had drained from it.

“The spell, in the book, it’s a mess. It’d need unspeakable power to fuel it.” She met Fitz’s gaze.

“I don’t understand,” Jemma said.

“If Raina overreached,” he explained. “Tried to do more than she’s capable of, the magic might have taken her life.” A chill settled on his shoulders.

Jemma winced. “Oh.” 

Growling softly at the idea of anything having to power to take Jemma away from him, he crawled up to sit on the couch beside her and hauled her into his lap.

Jemma squeaked. “Fitz!”

“He’d being protective,” Bobbi said. “Let him.”

Jemma relaxed against his chest, and Fitz nodded his thanks to Bobbi. He nuzzled against Jemma’s neck, breathing her in. The sound of an engine approaching made him tighten his hold. “Motorcycle,” he said against her skin.

“That will be Daisy.” Bobbi stood and went to the door as the engine got closer, then turned off.

Fitz looked up, and Daisy walked in. She was in black jeans and a red shirt with a black leather coat over it, along with a chip on her shoulder the size of one of the tall pines outside. Bobbi filled her in about Raina and the no animal-shifter, and Daisy bent to read the spell without taking the journal from Bobbi’s hands.

“This is shit,” Daisy declared, sitting in a chair and lighting a cigarette without using a lighter, just a spark from her finger. Fitz’s nose wrinkled at the stink, and Jemma popped up to get an ashtray. After putting it on the table beside Daisy, Jemma remained standing.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said to Daisy, who’d barely acknowledged him so far besides a quick glance.

She waved her cigarette in the air. “I met you before.” Apparently, she didn’t draw a distinction between his human and animal form. Either that was sweet or weird; he couldn’t decide. She returned her attention to Bobbi and Jemma, and Fitz felt decidedly dismissed. “Raina wanted her familiar,” she said. “I know she’d done at least one not so safe spell to try and draw him. Maybe she thought it finally worked and this guy really was her mate, and she just needed to get his animal back. I’d told her that her mate had probably caught a bullet in the war.”

Jemma’s face fell. “My fiancé did.”

Fitz launched himself off the couch to haul Jemma against him. Blinding hatred for the git who’d thought to make Jemma his wife had Fitz’s teeth sharpening.

“Fitz?” Jemma asked, wiggling in his grip.

“Someone’s jealous,” Daisy sing-songed.

Fitz forced his arms to relax. It wasn’t fair to Jemma to be this upset at a dead man she’d once cared for. She hadn’t known Fitz even existed when she’d agreed to marry this man.

Fitz hated him anyway.

An awkward silence filled the room.

“So,” Daisy finally said. “We’re thinking Raina offed herself doing this spell?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said.

“Where’s the not-a-shifter now? What’s to stop him from doing this again?” 

Ice dragged down Fitz’s spine. “M’eudail,” he whispered. “I won’t let him near you.” Jemma shivered.

Fitz hoped with all his might that the berk who’d caused Raina’s death had moved on. That he’d gone looking for another coven. If Fitz ever caught him, he’d be dead for what he’d done to a witch. He already deserved to die for giving up his animal. Fitz wished he had his mum to talk to. She would have known more about such an abomination. Or his brothers to help guard his mate.

Daisy exhaled through her nose, smoke billowing. “I haven’t been approached. And I don’t think Elena has either.”

“Not me,” Bobbi said. “Maybe they’ve moved on.”

“Yeah, because witches are so easy to find.” 

Fitz’s heart sank as Jemma pulled out of his arms. “Well, he can’t possibly think I’d help him. I can barely do anything.”

Daisy’s shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. “That doesn’t mean much. Watch yourself, be careful.” 

“Why?” Jemma said harshly, and his heart dropped further at her ashen face. “Why is this happening? I didn’t choose this power. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a witch, or live miles away from everything. I liked London. I don’t even get a say on who’s in my bed. I get a big muddy dog hurling itself against me one night and wake up to a strange man that says he’s part of my soul. Maybe I don’t want any of this.”

A bolt of pain staggered Fitz. Not want him? His mind spun. Mate…not want?

“Only you do,” Bobbi said. She crossed her arms. “You do. Part of you wanted this life. And Fitz is your ideal partner. If you have problems with him, that’s your fault for being attracted to him.”

Jemma pressed her hands to her neck. “I think you two should go now.”

Bobbi gave Jemma a pitying look. “Did you not know the power couldn’t flow to you if you didn’t want it?”

Jemma took a deep breath. “No, I did not know that. Why would I have wanted it? I was okay where I was.”

“Sure,” Daisy said, pushing herself to her feet. Fitz still couldn’t put the mental puzzle pieces together. Jemma had to want him. Daisy sent a stream of smoke in his direction that made him cough. How she expected her familiar to find her under the reek of tobacco was a mystery to him. Maybe she didn’t want to be found.

He’d found Jemma. His gaze snapped back to her.

“Listen to what Fitz tells you to do,” Bobbi said as she and Daisy headed to the door. “He’ll protect you to his last breath.”

“You don’t have to listen in bed,” Daisy added with a smirk. “Unless you want to.”

“Right,” Jemma bit out. Fitz was certain she did not like to be told what to do. By anyone.

Daisy shrugged and followed Bobbi outside. The car and motorcycle’s engines coughed to life and quickly disappeared down the road.

He reached for Jemma, who still stood in the middle of the living room. She moved away from him, and his stomach turned. “Jemma?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, voice high and filled with fear. “I’m a nurse. I live with my parents. I’m not some…witch. This isn’t me.”

“It’s who you’re becoming,” Fitz said, keeping his hands at his sides so as not to startle her. “I can feel how powerful you are, how the rock, trees, and soil wind through your being. You’re a witch, and you should be proud.”

“I’m not. And if I chose this—” She grabbed the hem of her cardigan’s sleeves, tugging at them. Her eyes were haunted. “If I chose to be a witch, then I also chose that Will should die because he couldn’t have married me, and we couldn’t have had a family. Not if I was destined to be a wellspring of ancient energy. Our kids would all be in school right now.”

Will must have been her fiancé.

Fitz didn’t know how to comfort her. “I’m not sure it works like that.”

“Bobbi said I had always wanted the power. I must have always been destined for it.”

“You can’t know that.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I do know. You exist. You were born for me.”

Fitz didn’t have an argument for that.

“I can’t do this.” Jemma tugged off her apron and dropped it on the floor. “I can’t. I don’t want to turn the seasons, call down the moon, or whatever else a witch does. I have already done so much to help other people, and now the universe wants me to do more? And to put my life on the line to accomplish it? That’s not fair.”

“What about me?” Fitz asked.

She turned her back towards him and pushed open the front door. “I didn’t ask for you either.”

Fitz reeled back, feeling slapped. Once he could excuse, but twice? Did she really mean it?

Jemma walked out the door, heading towards the forest, which was dark and damp, the snow having all melted. Stunned, Fitz had no words as he watched her retreating back, eventually losing sight of her among the pine branches. Even the sound of her feet on the carpet of needs faded.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. He was an idiot. He’d just watched his heart, dressed in nothing warmer than a cardigan, walk into a forest she didn’t know. Jemma was hurting and afraid, and she’d run while he’d done nothing to stop her.

Fitz’s hands curled into fists. It was tempting to shift so that his nose would be keener, but when he caught up to Jemma, he was going to need his words.

Shutting the door, he ran after her, entering the woods at the same spot she had. Her fern and ice scent caught him immediately, she hadn’t gone far, but the breeze carried a tang of salt as well. He tore after the trail of scent, batting aside the limbs of trees.

His little spoon was crying.

* * *

I received the most amazing birthday present today as a gift from @whistlingwindtree, It's insanely amazing artwork by the incredibly talented [@captainironnerd](https://captainironnerd.tumblr.com/)

The shadow in their mirror, the lighting!!, the hands touching down by their sides! This is truly gorgeous. 


	9. Jemma

Jemma’s teeth chattered as her tears threatened to freeze. It turned out that running out of your perfectly sound house when it was very chilly was a daft thing to do. Every time her mother or a teacher had chided her for rushing into things came back to haunt her. Her choice to be a nurse, or to marry Will. She’d been berated for being hasty when it came to both those things, but they had both felt right at the time. Neither felt nearly as right as just standing beside Fitz did.

Jemma stopped walking and put her hand on a tree. Fleeing from things wasn’t her usual method of handing them. It never made anything better. She’d simply needed air, and to be away from the pressure of the coven and her mate so she could think. Mostly she thought she’d been a ninny. Yes, she hadn’t chosen any of this, but neither had Fitz. He’d hardly gone to the counter at the mate-store and requested one slightly used nurse.

She snorted, imaging herself asking for a somewhat damaged Scotsman-electrician-wolf. With blue eyes. Nice hands. A rather lovely bum. Who liked her just as she was. Oh, drat, she needed to apologize. She’d said some things that weren’t nice, and while perhaps not untrue, were not respectful of Fitz being in the same boat.

The need to see him _now_ lashed at her, and she gasped, her head swiveled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffed. Which way back?

The forest, cold and silent, sat still around her. Every single direction looked the same.

Blast and damn.

She’d gotten lost.

Not her finest moment.

Jemma lifted her chin. She was an earth witch in the bloody forest. She was far from helpless. What would Fitz do? Probably sniff his way home, which didn’t help her, but she was linked to him. She could use her magic to follow that connection home. And then ask for forgiveness because she did want him a great deal. Nothing felt right without him beside her.

Stomping her feet for warmth, she closed her eyes to concentrate on her power. It shimmered deep in her chest, green and amber, rising to her call. It filled her, chasing away the cold with a humming warmth.

“Fitz,” she whispered. _Find my mate._

The resulting tug her chest nearly pulled her off her feet. Her heart knew where it belonged. Stumbling forward, her eyes snapped open, and she caught herself against another tree, the bark rough under her fingers.

She got her feet back under her while trying to tamp down the increasingly frantic magic inside her. It wanted to drag her along. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward.

A twig snapped, and she froze.

Mist had gathered under the trees, hemming her in. Her breath came faster as she took another step. Somewhere distant, a crow cawed loudly, making the hair on her arms stand up. Her legs tensed, preparing to run towards the safety of her home.

A rustle of branches had her spinning towards it. The fierce pull in her chest made her lurch towards the noise.

A dark shape loomed in the mist. Jemma bit off a scream, but the shadow became human-shaped.

Fitz-shaped.

Her magic flowed away, its purpose served, leaving her trembling in the frigid air.

She’d never been so glad to see someone.

Fitz strode over to her and put a finger under her chin to tilt her head back. His eyes were as dark as the pine trees towering around them.

“You found me,” she said when he didn’t speak. “I was trying to get back home.” Home. The cottage had become home because he was there. 

“You are my home.” He bowed his head and kissed her. The forest faded away as their lips met. The chill vanished, replaced by a heat that unfurled deep in her belly. Fitz’s arms closed around her, and she ran her hands up his arms to wrap around his neck as the kiss deepened.

Every part of her sang, her blood humming with how right the kiss felt. Desire, warm and silky, slid down her spine.

His tongue pressed into her mouth, as untamed as the landscape surrounding them. She teased the underside with the tip of her tongue, drawing him farther between her lips. All of him, she needed all of him.

Now.

Her hands glided down his chest as he kissed her, then around to his back, finally coming to rest on his bum. She yanked him closer, erasing the space between their bodies. He groaned, his hips rocking against her. The proof of his desire was a hard line against her belly. It made the liquid heat of her body burn brighter.

She needed him.

“Fitz,” she said urgently, hoping he understood. They’d mate here, in the forest. She didn’t care that it was going to be amid damp leaf letter or that the air was frigid with the memory of snow. It had to be here, in a place as wild as the wanting inside her.

He broke the kiss, and his hands cradled her face. Their gazes met. Wanting burned in her chest. Her life, her future, he’d become the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins. Her mate.

Fitz trembled. His pupils widened until the blue of his eyes nearly disappeared. He nodded sharply and knelt before her. His hands, warm and strong, wrapped around her calves. The brush of his fingers moving upwards made Jemma gasp. He didn’t look up at her. She had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as his palms skimmed her thighs under her skirt. He found the elastic edge of her knickers and slipped his fingers under to cup her rear.

Wetness gathered between her legs. Fitz gave a soft sound of approval as he stripped her knickers down her to her knees

A mist crept in among the trees, cocooning her and Fitz. She tilted her head back as she raised first one leg and then the other so Fitz could remover her knickers completely. He stood once they were gone, dragging his hands up her sides. His lips pressed against her neck as his fingers undid the buttons of her blouse one by one.

Fitz bit at her throat, his mouth possessive. He cupped the back of her head with one hand while the other palm pressed to her back. His lips found hers, the kiss deep and rough as he pulled her against him, the two sides of her blouse hanging open. Her nipples were trapped between the lace of her bra and his chest, making her whimper.

“Lay down, m’eudail,” he said, voice ragged and laced with a need that made her sex pulse. “Let the sky above and the world around us witness that we are one.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Fitz’s mouth crashed back into hers while his hands tried to guide her towards the ground. Jemma began to bend her knees, but no…she…her fingers twisted into his shirt, and she pushed him back a step.

“Jemma?” he asked, voice uncertain. She scratched the nails of one hand against his stubble and ran her thumb over his full lower lip, swollen from her kisses. 

“Let me make you mine, Leopold Fitz,” she said, what she needed crystallizing in her mind. Her heart thundered in her chest.

“Please.” His plea was desperate, needy. She’d never imagined she could feel so desired. Jemma had never thought she could desire someone as much as she wanted her familiar.

She pushed at Fitz until he sat, then more until he lay on the forest floor. Jemma straddled his hips, sinking to her knees over him. His expression shifted from concern to pure joy.

Jemma’s heart bubbled with delight. Fitz was all hers. She pushed up his shirt to smooth her hands over the whirls of sandy hair on his chest. The muscles there ticked as she caressed them, and a deep noise rumbled through him, vibrating under her fingers.

Fitz’s hands twitched, but she slid backwards, down his thighs, before he could touch her. Her breath caught as she pushed his kilt up. Her prize wasn’t elusive. Her pussy ached, empty and demanding, as she freed his cock. Her hand closed around his thick shaft. Fitz’s hips raised, thrusting into her fist with a grunt.

“Impatient,” she chided, stroking him slowly with a loose fist.

He growled; the sound not human.

“It’s not like I can wait much longer, either.” She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say to him or how to go about getting what she so badly wanted. Her previous experience hadn’t prepared her for this moment at all. A few hasty times with no words in a dark room while on her back wasn’t at all the same as being above her lover, his cock in her hands, daylight and mist embracing them.

Jemma felt powerful. Beneath her knees, the soil covering rocks and tree roots fed energy into her. It danced through her and shot up her spine. Her back arched. Fitz pushed himself up to half-sitting and yanked aside one cup of her bra. His mouth closed around her nipple, and he noisily sucked. Magic and pleasure swirled inside her, demanding release.

_Now. _

She pushed Fitz back down, yanked up her skirt, and positioned the broad head of his cock at her opening. Beneath her, Fitz went very still. The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath. This was no insignificant moment. The first joining of a witch and her familiar would change the world, just a little bit. 

A breath passed in and out of her lungs. With the next inhale, she dropped down, taking his entire cock inside her. Fitz moaned, and his eyes closed as his hands tightened around her hips.

Jemma paused, caught up in the absolute rightness of the moment. The magic inside her flared and sparkled. Every breath she’d ever taken had been leading to this moment. She and her familiar were one. The stretch of her inner walls by his cock was exquisite. He fit her seamlessly.

Nerve endings flared to life, wanting so much. In the pit of her stomach, her magic and his wolf knit together, and the perfect certainty filled her that she and Fitz belonged together. They were a universe unto themselves. Had he been feeling this the entire time? That the space between them felt crowded with galaxies of desire and connection. Perhaps love.

How had he waited for her to figure it out?

No more waiting.

Grabbing Fitz’s forearms, she used them to brace herself as she pushed herself up a few inches, then sank once more. She did it again and again. Her body settled into a rhythm. Fitz’s face showed nothing but ecstasy. His hands encouraged her to move faster, and his hips thrust up every time she moved downward.

She’d had no idea this was how it would be. Not how perfect Fitz’s body would feel inside hers, nor how her heart would sing at being joined with him.

Her skirts billowed out around them, the fabric rustling like leaves as she moved.

“Jemma,” Fitz moaned. “Sweet Jemma.”

She had no words to respond, but the wind gusted through the tops of the tress, making them sigh for her.

“I can’t…Jemma, you need to…” He let go of one hip and worked his hand under her skirt, his thumb finding its way between the juncture of her legs. Her breath hitched as he found her clit. The storm of pleasure inside her surged. “That’s it, little spoon, come for me, please.”

She paused, pressing herself down onto him as her eyes closed. Fitz’s thumb rubbed her clit, tight little circles that made her thighs quiver, while he moved in shallow thrusts, his cock hitting a spot in her channel that drove her closer to a peak. Chill air caressed the nipple of the breast he’d freed.

Jemma hung at the edge for long moments before toppling over into bliss.

“Fitz,” she gasped, her hips moving jerkily. The forest around them went from silent to a maelstrom of noise. Birds rose on loud wings, wind battered the trees, making trunks and branches creak.

Her familiar growled, an achingly primal noise, and his hand went from her clit around to grab her arse. Jemma rode him, the slide his cock drawing out her pleasure. The pulses of her sex around his thrusting shaft slowly ebbed, but the magic inside her still seethed.

Fitz’s fingers tightened. He plunged one last time up inside her as his cock bucked in release.

Her power exploded. Jemma felt like the sun. Like a goddess. The energy flared out from her, a bright pulse that drove the mist away. Pleasure consumed her, another orgasmic release. Fire licked along her spine.

Fitz roared.

Her vision whited out, her ears rang, and all she could do was cling to her mate.

The power finally spent itself, leaving her and Fitz crumpled together, panting, on the forest floor. He whimpered, and Jemma found his lips, kissing them tenderly. He cuddled her close. “My mate,” he said, then laughed. “My Jemma. Can you feel it?”

“Together,” she said, unable to describe how deep the entanglement went. She wanted to giggle or cry. Wanted to spend forever holding her familiar. “My mate.”

A smile spread wide over Fitz’s face. “Yes! Say it again.”

“My mate!” As she yelled to the sky, it seemed as if the trees themselves took up the call and sent it out into the forest, so that every last rabbit, fox, and owl would know that Jemma and Fitz were at last one.

Fitz kissed the tip of her nose. “I need to run.” His feet wiggled, and she laughed.

“Then do it.”

Bounding upand pulling her to her feet, he pointed through the trees. “Can you sense the way to the cottage?”

The way back home seemed abundantly clear now. “Yes. Now get your clothes off.”

Fitz grinned and shed his kilt and shirt while she rearranged hers and pulled her cardigan tight around her. She piled his clothes and her damp and now freezing knickers in her hands. “Don’t worry about getting lost,” he said once naked, rubbing his stubbly cheek against hers. “I could find you if you were a thousand miles away.”

“I could find you if you were a million.” The bond between them hummed with power. 

Fitz turned, and she smacked his rear sharply as he sprang away. He laughed, the sound turning into a sharp bark when he shifted.

As a wolf, he glided into the wood, but where once she would have lost track of him, now it was as if her heart went with him. His joy became her joy. Jemma walked towards their cottage, aware of how alive the forest was. There were mice in hollow logs and birds hidden among pine branches.

A stoat passed nearby, a vole in its mouth for dinner.

All the woods were a part of her now. Deep in her bones, her magic hummed in joy. All of her sang in relief. She had a mate. Probably the best one a witch had ever had. Kind, fiercely intelligent, clever with his hands. An echo of pleasure pulsed from between her legs. Very clever with all his parts.

No more long, empty nights. She had someone to share things with. Talk to. Lonely hadn’t been a word she would have described herself with two weeks ago. She’d had her nursing duties, her parents to help, the house to clean. She sometimes went to the cinema or theater with friends, or out to restaurants.

Having someone who saw all of you, the good and bad, and gloried in your existence, was very different. They were two against the world. She felt as if she floated along, secure in the knowledge that she had found the one person the universe had deemed the perfect fit for her.

How could she not have known she’d been waiting for him?

Jemma licked her lips, wanting to taste his mouth again.

Fitz slipped out of the trees as they neared the cottage, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he trotted behind her. He stayed there, panting, even after they exited the trees and were crossing the gravel drive.

She looked back at him, and he exaggerated his actions. Jemma paused outside the door. “Fitz,” she said, hand on the latch. “Are you panting after me?” He tilted his head, and she laughed. Her feet were light as she walked inside. He followed her. Once she firmly shut the door, she found herself pinned against it by a human Fitz.

He nuzzled her hair. “I will always be panting after you.”

“You better.”

Fitz smiled and cupped her cheek as he fitted his mouth over hers.

A surge of renewed desire swept through Jemma, making her moan.

A bulb popped in a living room lamp and the power went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year readers! I'm so glad to still be here, sharing fic with you guys! I have a story coming out soon in an anthology (check out [ @writesmorse ](https://writesmorse.tumblr.com) ) that could use some love. If you [ follow this link ](http://www.smoldr.org)to a survey you can vote for it (Jude and Amber). I know you can't read it yet (unless you have access to NetGalley books) so please feel free to wait until it releases 2/14/2020 if you wish to read all the stories first before voting. I promise fic is the focus of my fic, not a way for me to promote my other writing, but I'd be beyond thrilled to see Jude and Amber win and so I'm sharing this tidbit. (I also very much hope you hope you enjoyed this chapter of Collar, btw! I've really been looking forward to sharing it!)


	10. Fitz

Cupping his hands around a warm mug of tea, Fitz gazed out of the kitchen window while Jemma fussed with her blender.

The last few mornings had been the same, at least when the power worked in the cottage. Fitz had been rewiring like crazy, trying to hunt down what was making the electrical system so unstable. It was like trying to track a wounded deer over miles when it only bled a few drops every hundred feet.

The weather had been holding steady and clear since the snowstorm had come and gone. Frost rimmed the dry grass and pines in the early mornings, but it always disappeared quickly once the sun rose.

Fitz had never known such contentment in his life. His little spoon was everything he’d dreamed of his mate being. Intelligent, strong-willed, and the perfect shape to fit in his hands. Her obsession with her blender came as more of a surprise. Not that he could complain, exactly, she did make a lot of delicious meals with it. Jemma seemed less impressed with the results, though Fitz couldn’t figure out why. He liked warm food and the tasty burnt parts were his favorite.

“Is the coven coming today?” he asked around sips of tea. The moon would be new that night, and he expected the coven would celebrate the Esbat.

“I asked for more time before I start all that,” Jemma said as she rummaged in the fridge. Something like shyness tickled their bond. “I thought we could do something to mark it.”

Fitz turned away from the window and rested his rear against the counter, much more interested in what Jemma was saying than watching the frost melt outside. “Something together?”

“Not sure what yet.” She cracked an egg into the blender, which already had lemon juice, a peeled orange, and honey in it. “Any ideas?”

Her skirt swished as she went to take the ice tray from the fridge, tsked at it, and closed her eyes briefly as she called on her magic to freeze the water in it. Pride surged in his chest. Jemma’s power continued to blossom, and she’d slowly grown more confident in using it. No other familiar would have a mate so powerful. Or beautiful. Or that smelled as good. His hip twitched as a tail he didn’t currently have tried to wag.

He still found himself more comfortable in his fur sometimes, as much as he adored talking to Jemma, sometimes he simply needed to be a wolf. The night before, he’d shifted after making sure she’d been completely satisfied and had curled in a tight ball beside her. Probably more accurate to say after she’d made sure she was satisfied.

His Jemma was a right bossy little thing in bed.

Fitz loved it.

Loved her.

Jemma set a plate of toast on the table beside the butter and jam, then hit the blend button and poured the resulting mixture into two glasses. She’d been worried about their nutrition, especially with winter arriving soon, and had become determined to make sure they had more vitamins in their diet. Her current concoction was some recipe from her book that should do the trick, according to her. He thought it smelled delicious.

He sat at the table and buttered a piece of toast while thinking about the New Moon Esbat. “Do we need to do something formal?” he asked Jemma before taking a bite of toast.

She placed the glasses with the vitamin drink on the table and sat down, frowning. “I don’t think so? Did you have an idea?”

Did he ever. “Sex magic.”

Jemma’s glass paused halfway to her mouth. “Sounds a bit extreme. I was thinking of simply acknowledging all the new beginnings.” She set the glass down. “I have a new home, a new coven, a new place in life, and most importantly, a new bond with you.”

“All blessings we can give thanks for with our bodies.” He finished his toast and picked up his glass, gesturing at her with it. “And it doesn’t need all the formalities, like a circle or calling quarters.”

Jemma’s gaze narrowed. “We’ve had quite a bit of sex the last few days, what makes this different?” Her mouth quirked into a small smile.

“Intent.”

“Intent?”

He nodded. “You’ve felt that’s how magic works. It follows along what you mean for it to do, like chase dust bunnies outside. When we mated in the forest, we both knew what that was. We had the intent of bonding. It wasn’t simply my cock being inside you. Thought that was nice.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I think sex magic sounds like a good idea.” She grabbed her glass and took a big drink, which Fitz joined her in. The mixture was delicious with all the egg in it, and he drained his entire glass. Jemma plunked hers down still half full and coughed. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“That wasn’t my best idea.”

“You mean the drink? I thought it was delicious. Orange, cold, and that hint of the egg that made it perfect.” He eyed her glass. “Are you going to drink yours?”

“I should, but…go ahead.” She shoved most of a piece of toast in her mouth. Fitz grabbed her glass and down the rest, savoring the texture created by the chopped-up ice and egg.

“You can make that again,” he said, setting the glass back on the table.

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I think I’ll try the orange mixed with strawberries tomorrow instead, maybe with dry milk-solids to add protein.”

“That sounds good too.”

Everything she did sounded good.

****

His handwriting was atrocious. Fitz was very out of practice, and he was annoyed by how much it showed.

He was sitting with Jemma in the living room as they slowly made a list of all the magical supplies Raina had amassed, cross-referencing them with the spell in the flowered journal. 

The herbs the spell called for were all ones Raina had owned. Ones that now belonged to Jemma. It made his stomach churn, imagining Jemma attempting such a dangerous spell. It was designed to pull power from a witch, they’d worked out that much, and one person had already died because of it.

Jemma slumped back on the sofa. “I’m not sure this is as productive as I thought it’d be. There are so many unanswered questionsa list isn’t going to solve. Like how? How did that shifter lose his animal?”

Fitz looked down at the paper in his hands as fear tingled along his spine. “Not a bloody clue. Maybe a witch or some other entity ripped it out of him.”

“Other entity?”

He went to sit on the couch with her, pulling her into his lap. Jemma relaxed against his chest as he stroked her arm. “Witches and familiars aren’t the only magical creatures in the world. Most of them are harmless, little water sprites or the like. Some are more terrifying, like banshees.”

Jemma shuddered, then turned to curl up against his side and stroked his chest through his shirt. “I suppose if we ever meet this bloke, we can ask him.”

Fitz growled. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. Your cousin is dead because of him.”

“I don’t want to be near him either. Or for you to be around him, because what if he could take your wolf?”

Bloody fucking hell. He’d never considered that. To have his wolf torn from him was unimaginable. How would he survive without that part of himself? Without the wild and the fierce joy of running and hunting under the trees. His knee jiggled. “Maybe Raina succeeded, and he’s long gone.”

Jemma smiled sadly. “I hope he’s gone. I didn’t mean to upset you so much, but you can’t be scared for me without expecting me to be just as scared for you.” Fitz whined and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her ice and fern scent. “Do you need to go run?” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll keep working and reading here, maybe more about shifters. Are any of them women?”

“Of course, some love and marry other shifters and some…uh…” He rubbed his chin, not sure if he’d shock Jemma by stating—

Jemma laughed. “Fitz, I’m a nurse who worked during the war. I’m well aware that some women love women.”

His cheeks heated. “I should have known. Uh, we’re back to intent, again. Different bodies have different ways of completing the joining between mates. There’s no one right way.”

She smiled. “I liked our way.”

“I did too.” Warmth spread through his chest. His mate truly was the most magnificent one ever. “I won’t be far,” he said, jumping up before helping his precious Jemma to stand. He stripped off his shirt, kilt, and socks, handing them to her. She kissed his chest before going to hold the front door open for him. It was drizzling, the damp drowning some of the smells of the forest. “Thank you,” he told her, pecking her lips before racing out into the grey afternoon. He shifted before he reached the gravel drive, and the cottage rapidly grew smaller behind him.

He still heard when Jemma shut the door. The sharp click almost made him turn back, but then the scent of a coney caught his nose, and Fitz dropped into a crouch. This rabbit wasn’t going to hunt itself, even if it took hours. His mate knew he needed the forest. She wouldn’t begrudge him time hunting amid the rain and leaf litter.

Fitz crept forward half a step, listening. The rabbit was close, and he tightened his muscles, getting ready to spring.

****

The shadows were growing long by the time Fitz trotted home. He hadn’t actually caught anything, just terrified a few small animals with the idea that he could have if he’d wanted to. The hunt and the chase were enough since Jemma was keeping his belly full.

He reached the front door and shifted to let himself in, as paws and doorknobs were not compatible. Inside smelled like meatloaf, and he grinned.

“There you are,” Jemma said when he walked into the kitchen and came over for a quick kiss. “I’ve got dinner in the oven.” One of her hands landed on his chest over his heart, and her fingers spread out. “Bit chilled, aren’t you?”

Her head tilted back, and her breath tickled against his skin. Fitz found himself the exact opposite of cold, with a great deal of that heat centered in his groin. He slung an arm around Jemma and pulled her tight against him, his mouth on hers. She tasted faintly of cinnamon, and his tongue drove between her lips, searching for more.

Jemma squeaked, and he pivoted, pinning her against the wall. The benefit of being naked already was that he could easily rub his burgeoning erection against her front, though her clothes obnoxiously impeded him.

He braced one hand on the wall beside her head and started to gather her skirt up in his other. Jemma’s hand ran up his side, then stopped and yanked something out of his chest hair.

“Ow,” he grumbled.

“It’s a burr.” She ducked under his arm and went to put it in the bin.

Fitz followed her, his cock leading the way.

Turning, Jemma wrapped a hand around it. “I would love to simply go at it, but you’re filthy. Were you rolling in mud again? I’ve got the boiler going, so let’s get you bathed.”

He could hardly protest as she led him to the bathroom by his prick and started filling the tub with warm water.

“In with you,” she said, letting him go and pointing to the tub.

Fitz crossed his arms. He wasn’t five, to be ordered about. “As much as I like the idea of you giving me a bath again, I’m not getting in the water without you.”

Her tongue darted out to trace over her lower lip. “Alright.” 

He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, but he was glad he wasn’t having to argue with her. Fitz stepped into the bathtub and sank down, his eyes on Jemma as she disrobed. Every inch of skin she exposed made him that much more eager to get his hands on her. Naked, she adorably covered her breasts with one hand as she stiffly climbed into the tub with him, ending up between his knees and facing away.

There was a redness to her cheeks he was certain had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. When she turned the taps off, he reached forward and ran a finger down her spine.

“Relax, little spoon.”

“I’ve never bathed with someone before.” Her dark eyes glanced over his shoulder at him, and his poor cock throbbed.

“The only time I have would be that first night when you washed me.”

Jemma smiled softly and snorted. “I thought you were a big, fluffy dog.”

“I’m not a dog.” And now she was paying for that comment. He slipped an arm around her waist and yanked her back against his chest, making her yip. His prick was content with being pressed against her backside for now, and he grabbed the bar of green soap from the dish and built up a lather as Jemma slowly relaxed back against him.

Her hands went under the water to run along his legs. “Not a dog at all,” she murmured, twisting her neck slightly to look up at him. He set the bar down and pecked her lips.

His soapy hands rubbed her shoulders, and she sighed as her body went limp. He washed her arms and sides, paying special attention to her breasts. The heavy feel of them cupped in his hands had his cock eagerly twitching. She was entirely his cup of tea, from her ice and fern scent to the perfect curve of her hips.

Fitz dragged a hand over her belly before sending it between her legs to circle her already swollen clit. She mewled warmly as he rubbed it. Such perfect sounds which always drove him crazy. He wished he could tell his old friends, the ones from his squad who’d so often worried over him finding a wife because he’d been quiet and shy, that he had mated the most attractive woman ever to exist. If only they were more than ghosts.

Jemma was very, very real beneath his hands, her folds slippery. She moaned and stretched her legs, pointing her toes. Fitz hooked his legs around the inside of hers and pulled her thighs further apart.

“This isn’t getting you clean,” Jemma murmured, her hips gently rolling and her arse teasing his cock. 

“You cared about clean,” he reminded her. “I just wanted you naked.”

“Lovely idea.”

Fitz pressed his nose into her hair, feeling smug that he had come up with such a brilliant plan. Jemma’s breath was starting to hitch, meaning she was close. That hadn’t taken long, which chuffed him even more. He rubbed faster.

“Intent,” he breathed, though his intent happened to be giving his mate pleasure.

“Thank you, Goddess,” she panted. “For blessing me with a new home, a purpose, and a mate with amazing fingers.” Her power tangled with her pleasure, and he could feel her gratitude. It humbled him, how blessed she felt. The surge of her orgasm would carry the message to the universe.

She trembled in his arms. Fitz flicked her clit. Jemma came with the cutest squeak. He held her legs in place with his as her hips jerked and she humped against his hand.

“Oh,” she said as she relaxed. “Oh, Fitz, that was wonderful.” There was a furry of splashing as she moved out of his arms and turned to face him, kneeling on the bottom of the tub. She bit her lip as she studied him and reached out to grab the cup that rested on a stool beside the tub.

Jemma soaked his hair, and he had to squeeze his eyes closed as the water ran over his face. She laughed when he shook his head to try and get the drips off.

“It works better when I’m a wolf,” he groused as she lathered up his hair in a business-like fashion. Though she had to lean close to do so, which meant her tits were right in his face. Fitz nuzzled them, turning his head as much as she’d let him to rub his stubble against her nipples. Jemma always made fantastic, obscene noises when he did that. Her hiss and groan had his cock jerking, and he humped against her thigh as she washed him.

Her scrubbing turned into caresses when she reached his chest, and she spent extra time fussing over his arms, her fingers tracing over his biceps and forearms. After rinsing his hair, she sat back on her heels. “That’s the worst of it but stand up and let me make sure the mud’s all gone.”

Fitz braced his hands on the edges of the tub, not certain Jemma was aware of how they’d end up positioned when he rose.

“Up, up,” she encouraged. Shrugging, he stood. With Jemma on her knees, his erection jutted right in her face. Fitz was shocked when his mate didn’t bat an eye, only placed a hand on one of his thighs and wrapped the other around his cock as she leaned forward and sucked the head into her mouth.

He moaned.

“Jemma—” he started to weakly protest but paused as she gazed up at him with laughter in her eyes. Bloody hell, she’d done exactly what she’d wanted, and now had him helpless on her tongue. “That’s very nice,” he said, voice hoarse.

She slid his prick out of his mouth. “I’ve always thought I’d enjoy this,” she said cheerfully. “And I do like it when I’m right.”

Her sweet lips took his cock in again, and Fitz slapped a palm against the wall to brace himself. The hand Jemma had on his leg crept up and around until she was gripping his arse. His other hand ended up on her head, and he gently encouraged her with it as she figured out how to bob her head.

Her tongue was doing amazing things to him as well, stroking his shaft and occasionally teasing the crown.

Fitz wanted to live in that moment forever, but all too soon, his balls were drawing up. His mate was driving him over the edge fast.

“I’m going to—” he started, but it ended up a grunt as Jemma did something with the tip of her tongue to the underside of his prick that tipped him over into bliss.

He shattered, his cock pulsing his release into her mouth.

Jemma didn’t push him away, only sucked harder and hummed with what seemed like enjoyment.

Fitz had to close his eyes as the last few jolts of pleasure overwhelmed him. He couldn’t pry them open again until Jemma released his softening cock from her mouth, giving it a last sweet kiss.

She stood, a wide smile on her face. “I think I did alright for my first time.”

“Mrgh,” he said, opening and closing his mouth several more times, trying to make himself speak. He sucked a deep breath in and nearly choked on an acrid scent. His head whipped towards the closed bathroom door. “Smoke.”

Jemma winced. “The meatloaf!” She scrambled out of the tub and wrenched the door open.

He grabbed a towel, paused to wrap it around his waist because the smell wasn’t that strong, and walked into the kitchen to find a still naked Jemma pulling their dinner from the oven. A few wisps of grey smoke wafted up from it.

Jemma’s face crumpled as she set the pan on top of the stove.

Fitz came to stand beside her. It didn’t look as bad as he’d feared. The meatloaf itself appeared downright tasty. “I’m afraid some of the veg might be done for,” he said. “But the edges of the meatloaf look absolutely the right amount of crispy.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma put her arms around one of his and pressed her face to his shoulder. She shook, and he thought she was crying. He turned, meaning to fold her into a hug, only to discover she was trembling with laughter. “You really are the perfect man.”

“And wolf,” he added, making her laugh harder. “It’s not that funny.”

“You make me feel so…happy,” the last word was whispered as if she could hardly believe it.

“Aye, it’s the same for me. Now as much as it pains me to say it, run and put something on and I’ll slice this up for us.”

“There’s bread,” she said, not appearing to be in a hurry to get dressed. “We can have sandwiches, perhaps with slices of tomato?”

“Hurry along,” he patted her backside. “Or it won’t be a sandwich I eat.”

Jemma looked slightly flustered as she padded towards the bedroom, and Fitz’s heart felt like it was going to burst from all the love in it.

That he’d found his way to this house and his mate seemed almost impossible. After so long, he had discovered where he belonged.


	11. Jemma

“Does it look clean enough to you?” Jemma said, holding up a wet sheet to show Fitz. He sat on the floor of the washroom in fur, his tail curled around his paws.

Cocking his head, he stood and came over to have a good sniff. His nose twitched as he skimmed over the fabric. With a sharp bark of approval and a brief tail wag, Fitz returned to his place. Jemma dropped the sheet into the basket along with the other bed linens and drained the washing machine.

She sang under her breath as she worked, her heart feeling as light as a ray of sunshine. Her connection to her mate warmed her, and the magic of the earth flowed through her like blood, its soft pulse a comfort. Not once while lying awake the night before she’d driven north from London and wondering what her new life would be like had she imagined how amazing it would become.

Hefting the basket in her arm, she shot Fitz a glare for not being able to help carry the heavy, wet laundry. Though she had confiscated the majority of his clothes to wash, which meant he’d needed his fur coat to be warm enough to stay in the shed with her. Him not being human—naked and in her space-- was also probably the best way to ensure the washing actually got done.

Fitz could be very distracting, with his…self.

Walking to the backdoor of the cottage, a flash of movement low to the ground near the tree line caught her eye. A puffy white rabbit tail disappeared into a thicket, and Fitz darted forward. He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and whined.

“Go hunt,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But don’t bring anything back and expect me to cook it for dinner. I have a nice chicken mousse planned.”

Fitz nodded once and took off, disappearing silently among the pines.

Still humming, Jemma entered the house, put down her basket, and hung up her coat. She turned the radio up louder, listening with one ear to a discussion about rapid-eye-movement during sleep. Scientists and deduced it meant someone was dreaming. Jemma yawned. Researching sleep sounded delightful if it meant you could sleep all the time and call it work.

She slung the sheets over lines in the kitchen and was draping the rest over the clothes’ horse in the living room when she heard tires on the gravel drive. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and a prickle of fear raced down her spine.

With Fitz off madly chasing rabbits she was by herself. His hunter’s focus filled their bond and she wondered if he’d be able to tell her fear from his prey’s.

Though she probably didn’t have anything to be afraid of and was simply being a ninny.

Jemma draped the socks in her hands over the rack. She patted her hair and dress to make sure they were presentable. It was most likely Bobbi coming to see how she was getting along. It’d be nice to have a chat. Jemma peeked out the front window. It wasn’t Bobbi’s car in front of the house, but a big, black monstrosity.

She went back to being uneasy. A sharp rap on the door made her jump.

Heart pounding, she faced the door. It didn’t make sense for her to be so afraid. She was a witch, not a mouse. And if the person on the other side of that door wanted in, not answering wasn’t going to make him go away.

“Coming,” she called. Putting her hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath and opened it. A man, sharply dressed in a light grey suit, with dark hair, and a hat in his hand, stood on the other side.

He appeared to be looking at his boots but then raised his face to hers.

“Hello, Jemma,” he said, voice smooth.

Her world went sideways.

She knew that voice. That face. Had mourned it. Had loved it, once.

Will was dead.

Will stood on her doorstep.

He worried the hat in his hands. “I know this must be quite a surprise.”

She couldn’t form words. The impossibility of it all felt like a blanket smothering her. Breathing became an effort. The other option, that he’d somehow lied about his death to get away from her, was a black well of hopelessness she couldn’t even look into.

“Jemma?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m sorry, I have the wash out to dry. The house isn’t ready for visitors.”

“It’s me,” he said, smiling. A smile that’d made her heart fill with joy, once upon a time. “I was working on a project with Raina, after swearing her to secrecy, I didn’t want to interrupt your life, but now that you’re here, perhaps you can help me instead?”

Graves simply didn’t cough people back out of them. “You’re dead,” she told him. As if it’d make him return to the past where he belonged.

“Only briefly.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I have a scar I can show you, but a savior found me as I lay broken in the mud. His price didn’t seem too high, not when I had no other choice. It was later I learned what I’d given up. Raina wanted to help me.”

Jemma’s brain finally kicked back into gear. The shifter with no animal was Will.

He’d lied to her when she’d been a very young woman. “You were using me,” she said softly. “You were a shifter, and I was almost a witch but not quite. Not your mate. What did you want with me?”

Will’s face hardened. “I was a foolish young man. I believed it didn’t matter that you weren’t my mate. We could have had a family. I believed loving you would be enough.” He paused, a smile returning to his mouth, though this time it looked forced.

Something felt very wrong.

Her knowledge of magic was far from complete. Was this man on her doorstep even Will? Could it be something simply wearing his face?

The hair on her arms raised.

This thing wanted an animal. Perhaps could simply take Fitz’s for all she knew. Pull his wolf from him. His very soul.

Bile rose in her throat as the need to protect her mate surged deep in her chest.

“Leave,” she said, her voice firmer than she’d thought she could sound. “Will died. I don’t know who you are, but I’m not Raina. I will not help you.”

Will’s smile didn’t slip, but he stepped forward, his palm slapping against the door, making her jump. “Jemma, it really is me. Let me in.” His voice was low and coaxing. It made her blood freeze. He took another step. “You were to be my wife. Could still be. I’ve never stopped dreaming of you.”

The her from a lifetime ago ached to believe him. A tiny bit of herself that had foolishly thought that this exact scenario would happen, Will would turn up on her doorstep and the life he’d promised her would still happen.

Only she didn’t want it anymore.

Jemma shook her head no, feeling very small as Will loomed over her.

He reached out, his fingers hovering over her cheek. She fought not to flinch. Her magic prickled as something dark seethed just below his skin. Something unnatural. “I never thought I’d see you again. I had to give up everything. Even my animal. Help me get it back, Jemma. Please. You’ve got the power now, and if I loved you then, now I would be your mate. Your coven has explained having a familiar to you, surely? Don’t you want that connection? I will make you more powerful than you can dream.”

She blinked. Did he think she wanted more power? That line had probably worked with Raina. Along with the promise of being Raina’s familiar.

The thought of whatever Will had become touching her made her sick.

“Leave,” she said again, jerking away from his hand. Behind her, the lights in the house became brighter, filling the room as if to drive away the dark thing her one-time fiancé had become.

“Jemma.” He winced in the bright light streaming around her. “I need my animal, and then we can claim each other. I know I was a fumbling boy before, but I will show you what you’ve been missing.” He reached towards her again.

Every single fiber of her being screamed that she was already claimed. “You did a shite job with the wiring in the house, by the way,” Jemma said. Will’s hand paused mid-air. “And you are most certainly not my familiar.”

Will’s expression darkened. She’d given away too much, but there was no taking the words back. “You little bitch,” he snapped. His hand curled into a fist. “I will kill—"

Jemma launched herself around him, smacking her shoulder on the door. It forced her off balance and she fell to her knees on the gravel path just past the stoop. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet and fled.

Behind her, Will roared.

The gravel gave way to dry, dead grass. Her heart thudded as she raced for the tree line on the far side of the drive. The woods were safety.

And she had magic.

She was not helpless.

From far off she could feel Fitz's attention jerk towards her.

“No!” she breathed, but it was too late. Fitz had felt her terror and it’d sent him running for her.

She made the tree line, passing between them into the gloam under their branches.

Spinning, she braced herself against the sturdy trunk of a pine. Her breath burned in her chest.

Will cursed as he strode towards her, his face contorted in rage. The small piece of herself that’d clung to his memory for a decade withered and died. No part of her belonged to him. Or the thing he’d become.

Jemma reached through the bond, anchoring herself in Fitz’s love before plunging her fears down into the earth and calling for her power.

The wind stirred the tops of the trees overhead, the sound a promise.

The forest awoke.

Branches cracked and trunks twisted as trees pushed into Will’s path. His feet squelched into thick mud as the ground beneath him liquified.

He stopped, but his eyes locked with hers. “I am going to get back what’s mine,” he ground out. “And you are going to do it for me. You. Not any other witch. I was promised an earth witch as I bled out into the dirt, and an earth witch I will have.”

“You’re insane.”

His eyes rolled wildly in his head. “Are you just now figuring that out?” The ground trembled. Stones lifted into the air, surrounding him. Jemma’s body trembled with the effort. “Enough!” Will roared. “You won this time, witch.”

He pulled his feet from the muck, leaving his shoes behind, and retreated back towards his car. The engine started. The tires kicked up gravel as Will roared away. Jemma sank to the ground.

The stones plummeted back to earth, and the trees returned to their normal positions.

She hid her face in her hands as sobs shook her shoulders. Mist gathered around her, hiding her.

It parted as Fitz came barreling through. He stuck his cold nose against her cheek. She sobbed harder. His nose disappeared a second later, and there was the flare of energy as he shifted. His hands slid over her before lifting her into his lap.

“What’s wrong little spoon? What happened?”

“The shifter with no animal,” Jemma sniffed. “He says he was promised an earth witch, and that it has to be me to fix him.” She pressed tight against Fitz’s bare chest. “He’s insane. Absolutely insane.” She put her arms around Fitz’s neck. “And I know him.” 

“What?” Fitz murmured, rocking her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her teeth chattering belied her words.

“Inside with you.” He stood up, Jemma in his arms.

“Fitz—” She started to protest.

“Your feet are bare,” he said as if that was reason enough.

“So are yours!”

He snorted but set her down, keeping an arm around her. “Better?”

“Yes.” She needed to walk on her own two feet. Needed to feel the ground under them.

“I wasn’t here to protect you,” he said as they made their way back to the cottage. The self-loathing in the words hit her. It’d be impossible for him to guard her every hour of every day. He’d been enjoying himself on his hunt, and she didn’t want fear to take that away, but her mind was too fraught to make a fully articulated argument. However, she hadn’t been helpless.

“I feel I should point out that I did protect myself.”

“You did, m’eudail, you did.” Fitz put his hand on her back to guide her inside and kicked the door closed behind him. She sat down on the couch, wincing, and pulled up her skirt to look at the cuts and rapidly forming bruise on her knees.

“I thought you said you were fine?” Fitz growled again, setting his hands on his hips. He looked gloriously angry wearing nothing but a scowl. 

She flipped her skirt back down. “It’s nothing.”

Fitz sighed and turned away from her. He knelt in front of the fire, which was only embers, and grabbed a new log for it. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here,” he groused.

“Hey!” she gasped but smiled as Fitz probably intended her to. How had he done that? Making her laugh despite herself. She watched him stoke the fire.

“Am I wrong?” he asked as he got a cheerful blaze crackling.

She stuck her tongue out at his back. “Yes.”

“You might have to prove that to me.”

Jemma giggled a lot more than the joke warranted. Fitz finished building up the fire and returned to the sofa. He stretched out over the cushions and tugged at Jemma to lie down as well. There wasn’t a lot of room, and she ended up completely squished against him chest to chest. He tenderly stroked her back, and she scratched at the hair on his chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said after a long moment.

“None of that. As I said, I protected myself.”

His finger traced the length of her spine. “What did you mean, that you know him?”

Jemma hesitated. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed.

But it had been Will.

As terrible and implausible as that was, she had to tell Fitz. He deserved her honesty.

“It was Will Daniels,” she said. “My…my fiancé.”

Fitz growled, the sound so menacing she flinched. “Thought the berk had died.”

“He did. He even said he did. I think he must have given up his animal to stay alive. He’s not…right.”

She tried to find sympathy for the young man dying so far from home, scared and alone, who’d made a horrible choice, but she had none. He’d chosen to become a monster.

“I’m glad I never had to make that choice.” Fitz curled his arm tightly around her.

“He tried to get me to help him retrieve his missing animal,” she said. “Tried to tell me I’d be his mate.”

Fitz’s entire body stiffened. “He can’t take you.”

“I’d never allow him to.” She kissed Fitz’s neck, his stubble rough against her lips. “And stay far, far away from him.” She hoped she’d been imagining that Will had picked up on her slip, that he didn’t realize she had a mate already. “If he shows up, run in the opposite direction.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Jemma sighed. “I know. But how much you want to protect me? That’s how I feel too. You are my mate. I will not let him have any part of you.”

“At an impasse then, aren’t we?”

Jemma didn’t have a response for that. She pressed herself tighter against her familiar, needing him. She’d survived Will’s death, but if she lost Fitz…she couldn’t even think about the possibility. He was her heart. 

“Did he say what kind of animal he once shifted to?” Fitz asked after a few minutes, as the fire warmed the room.

“No.” It made her glad not to know. She didn’t want to imagine him shifting to something warm and fuzzy. “But I’m very pleased you’re a wolf.

Fitz grunted and his hand drifted lower on her back. “And why’s that?”

Jemma smiled against his neck. Fitz sounded completely delighted. “You’re both a fierce wild creature and a giant, cuddly puppy.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that assessment,” he said while cuddling against her.

She laughed softly. “You don’t have to agree for me to be right.”

“I’m not winning this argument.”

Jemma kissed his neck. ”I’m glad you’re here. That I’m here. I do feel bad for Raina, falling for his lines. She’d been here alone for years. The promise of having her mate must have been beyond tempting.”

Fitz put his leg over hers. “She paid a steep price for her that dream.”

Jemma raised her eyes to meet his. “I hope I never have to know everything I would be willing to give up for you. You are worth it.”

“And you are my universe.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth, and he kneaded her arse. Both actions were soft, asking only for nearness.

“I’m going to have to inform the coven, aren’t I?” Jemma said at last, breaking the kiss. 

“Probably.”

“I hate that I have to move to do that.” She wiggled her toes, and her hurt knees twinged as she stretched.

“Send Bobbi a note,” Fitz said, gently kissing her lips. “Then let me finish warming you up.”

A thrill went through her, lighting her up. She would be very warm before it was time for dinner.


	12. Fitz

The air smelled amazing. Fitz had his muzzle pushed out the window of Jemma’s car, inhaling as much as he could as she drove them into town.

His mate looked put together, with stockings a blue dress, and her hair neatly up. Unlike him, who’d ended up in a muddle over being around so many people he didn’t know after so many years of being alone. The night before, he’d held Jemma—after distracted her for as long as possible with his face between her thighs—and soothed her as she’d woken up from nightmare after nightmare. And this morning she’d understood when he’d not been able to comb his hair without his hand trembling.

Jemma had told him to shift. As a wolf, he wouldn’t have to talk to anybody, and he felt better having his fangs available if he needed to defend her.

When he’d jumped into the little car’s passenger seat (after a thorough sniff to ensure nobody had touched it that shouldn’t have as Fitz didn’t put it past Will to sabotage her car) he hadn’t even been thinking of how wonderful the air being rammed down his nose would be. He could scent _everything_.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you hang your head all the way out,” Jemma said, scratching his ears. “But it’s too cold. I’d be a block of ice in seconds.” He wiggled his ears in acknowledgment as he wished she’d worn a heavier coat. The smell of deer, rabbits, and the occasional badger teased him in passing. He jammed his nose a little further out.

Jemma turned the car, and the dirt road smoothed out into pavement beneath the wheels. It let her go faster. More smells demanding his attention crowded into his nose. He’d never driven in a vehicle as a wolf before, and now he sorely wished he’d been able to keep his nose out the window of troop transports he’d been crowded into. He at least would have had some idea of where they’d been.

As the neared the town, the stink of civilization became clearer. His nerves jangled, even though Glass River hardly had more than a few wee shops and a rail station.

He pulled his nose back inside the car and stared through the windscreen as the village came into view. The neat houses, tidy shops, and small kirk made his blood run cold. So many places for tripwires and hidden ordinance. He knew there wasn’t, but his mind still picked out the first places he’d check. His breath came out in ragged pants. Jemma parked the car at the end of the main street but didn’t get out.

“It’s safe,” she said. “I don’t entirely know what you’re afraid of, but I can feel it.” That she understood amazed him. Putting his own worries to one side, he could feel her apprehension. They’d agreed it’d be unlikely Will would be waiting around any corners to pounce in the middle of town, where there were a lot of busybodies watching, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t jumping at shadows just as much as Fitz

He flicked his tongue across her cheek, and she smiled weakly at him.

“I promise it won’t be so bad,” she said as if the words could make it so. Wiping her face, she opened the car door. Once out, she held it open for him, and he followed her onto the rough concrete that made up the pavement outside the shops. “Groceries first,” she murmured, her eyes darting left and right. They’d agreed on a plan, buying needed food before meeting with the coven at Bobbi’s house.

As they walked down the street, he kept his eyes and nose on high alert. But people walked merrily in and out of doorways as if nothing bad could ever happen. Eventually, the ache between his shoulders eased. Jemma wouldn’t be going into anywhere many other people hadn’t already been that day alone.

Fitz padded past a shop window stuffed with fall fashions, and Fitz was five paces past the display before he realized Jemma had stopped. She patted his head as he returned to her. “Those are lovely.” She pointed at the window, but he had no idea which one she meant and tilted his head as he studied the dresses. His mate would look good in any of them. Or out of any of them.

“Just one,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

With a huff, he planted his butt on the bloody uncomfortable pavement and waited. It felt like he was going to perish of old age when Jemma left the shop, a wide smile on her face and a brown paper package in her hands. He barked softly as they walked further up the street.

“I got two,” she confessed. “And a new blouse.”

He’d enjoy pulling them off her. Fitz made plans to have a lot of wood cut for the winter to make the cottage toasty. Maybe he could talk Jemma into not wearing much most of the time if he kept things warm enough.

They passed a store selling knick-knacks, and another offering furniture. At the green grocer’s, he sat patiently again while Jemma went inside to shop. The few other people out and about were giving him a wide berth, which he appreciated. He’d be so embarrassed if he forgot himself and nipped fingers.

The wind changed direction, bringing with it the scent of the river, and he welcomed the smell of the untamed water. He closed his eyes and sat in the sun, letting it warm him until the bell on the door jangled and Jemma exited. She had another paper bag, and the owner of the shop, an older man with a flat cap on and a white beard, came out behind her.

He smiled down at Fitz. “What a braw big lad you are!” Fitz’s eyes darted to Jemma as the grocer scratched under Fitz’s chin. It looked like she was holding back laughter. “And so well behaved. A lassie doesn’t have to worry about a thing with you by her side, now does she?”

Fitz wagged his tail exactly twice. Yes, he could take care of his mate, thank you very much.

The grocer straightened and pointed down the street. “The feed shop’s right over there.” He touched the brim of his hat. “It’s was nice doing business with you. I’ve got a few things coming on the train next week, like cranberries, if you want to come back for that.”

“Thank you,” Jemma said. “I’ll be here weather permitting.”

“Aye, Pine Cottage is no joke to drive in from when it’s snowing. Stay safe.” He looked down at Fitz. “And don’t you be leaving her side when the weather’s bad.”

Fitz barked once, which seemed to delight the old man. “You see that? It’s like he understood just what I said.”

“He’s bright,” Jemma said, nodding a goodbye before heading back towards their car. Fitz walked proudly at her side. “Turns out we need one more thing,” she told him as she secured the food and clothes in the boot of the car. A smile flitted over her face. “It’s a surprise.”

His ears perked up. A surprise?

“It’s a present.” Her grin became wicked. Had they’d been at home, he would have surprised her by shifting and having her up against the nearest wall for smiling like that.

He supposed she’d be less happy if he did that right now. Bloody damn propriety.

Jemma led them back down the street to the feed shop, which smelled strongly of molasses and oats. He’d been in plenty of places like it with his mum and brothers as a youngster, buying feed for their chickens and nanny goat. The good memories of playing hide and seek amid the aisles with his siblings while his mum had fussed at them were good ones that grounded him.

“I think you can come in here,” Jemma said, opening the door and letting Fitz walk in. The mouth of the young man behind the counter dropped open. “Hello.” Jemma smiled at him. “I’m Ms. Simmons, I’m new in town from London. Mr. Reid at the grocery said I needed a collar for my dog, maybe even a lead, so that the constable won’t be after me. Or the dog.”

The young man looked over Jemma from top to bottom. Fitz’s lips pulled back slightly from his teeth, even as his mind tried to process the word collar.

“They’re in the back left corner,” the man said, waving a hand. “It’s not a bad idea. Mostly so nobody accidently shoots him. He sort of looks like a wild animal.” Damn right Fitz was a wild animal. “I doubt Mack would toss you in the clink for not having a license, but I’ll get the paperwork started for you.”

“Thank you,” Jemma said primly and marched to the indicated corner.

It wasn’t until Fitz sat beside her as Jemma studied the display of leads that what she was doing really hit him.

Like a lorry.

A collar. She was putting a collar on him.

Not only were they bonded as mates, but she was going to let everyone know about it. A high-pitched yip escaped him and he stood, all four of his legs trying to do different things. He ended up running in a tight circle, his nails clicking on the linoleum floor.

He wanted to shift and hug her, tell her how much it meant. He was already hers, but with shifting there could be no ring on his finger. A collar, however, nobody could doubt.

Fitz flopped on his back at her feet, wiggling from the sheer joy.

Jemma raised a brow. “I thought you wouldn’t be so happy about this. Like I’m trying to domesticate you.”

He squirmed harder and bumped his muzzle against her leg. Later, at home and with his cock in her, he’d tell her how much it didn’t mean domestication to him. How he’d wear it with pride.

“Oh, get up,” she chided. “And help me pick. Brown or black?” She picked up two soft leather lengths and held them out. Fitz considered for long moments, trying to decide which one was more him. Black was utilitarian, but also a ‘bad boy’ color. Which he wasn’t. The other soldiers in his company had often made fun of him for sticking close to base when they had leave, but Fitz hadn’t enjoyed the overwhelming noise of bars or the close press of so many people. He’d longed for green spaces, ones without mines or unexploded ordinance littering them.

He nosed the brown collar.

“Good choice. What about thick or thin?” She held up the two widths. This was easier, he chose the thin one. It’d be less weight around his neck as a wolf or a man. Jemma put the thicker one back and returned to the front counter.

Fitz totted behind, then reared up to put his front paws on the counter and eyed the kid, who rang up Jemma’s purchase with an alacrity Fitz hadn’t thought he’d possessed. He shoved the paperwork at her and told her to mail it in.

It made Fitz’s tail stand up straighter. That’s right, Jemma was his.

Outside, Jemma knelt and put the collar around Fitz’s neck, not pulling it very tight.

“There, now you’re mine.” She sounded breathless, and Fitz turned to lick her cheek as he wagged his tail. Jemma hugged him. He belonged to his witch, and she to him, and he’d bite anyone who said differently.

****

Fitz followed close behind Jemma as they went up the neat path through the front garden that led to Bobbi’s home. It was in spitting distance of town, two stories, window boxes, trimmed hedges, and a freshly washed stoop. There were neighbors, but they were far enough away that prying eyes wouldn’t be able to see much through the trees that served as a windbreak around the home.

Jemma was carrying his clothes, and her face was grim as she knocked on the door.

Elena answered. “Jemma, come in, come in. Make yourself at home.” She had on a grey pencil skirt and a white twin set. A sheaf of papers was in her hand. As soon as the door closed, she dropped several of the papers on top of the pile of clothing. “This is the ritual for the full moon. Learn it. Especially the quarter call. All from memory, please.” Jemma looked bewildered. “And Fitz, you can change upstairs, first door to the right.”

He trotted upstairs, and Jemma followed, dumping the clothes on the neatly made bed in what Fitz assumed was a guest bedroom. She was frowning at the ritual. “I hope I can remember this all.” Distracted, she wondered off back down the stairs.

Fitz waited until she reached the bottom, then darted out of the guest room to have a smell at the doors to the other rooms before shifting. He didn’t suspect Bobbi of anything, but keeping Jemma safe was his first priority, not the coven’s.

Well, maybe it was also the coven’s, but he’d be better at it.

The scents coming under the doors were all innocuous and he easily identified what lay behind each. Bobbi’s room, the toilet, a room that smelled like magical storage, and what had to be a linen closet. Everything in the later smelled freshly laundered. Whatever wash powder Bobbi used, it made him sneeze.

Back in the guest room, which carried no scent of a guest having been there ever, Fitz changed and pulled his shirt and kilt on, then the socks as well to keep his feet warm. The leather collar was looser around his human neck and mostly hidden by the lapels of his button-up. It didn’t matter, he knew it was there. Fitz carried his boots back down to sit by the front door and found Jemma sitting with a cup of tea on the edge of the sofa. He sank to sit on the floor beside her legs and took the cuppa sitting of the coffee table that Jemma nudged towards him.

It didn’t have enough sugar.

Bobbi flittered about and straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened, Elena read a thick book, and Daisy lounged in a chair with her perpetual cigarette between her fingers. All sneaking looks at him that he couldn’t read.

“Jemma already gave us the basics,” Daisy said when nobody else spoke up. “Anything you want to add?”

“Just that me not being there to defend my mate won’t happen again.” He sipped his tea. 

Bobbi shared a look with Daisy, then sighed. “Fitz, she did fine taking care of herself.”

“This time,” he muttered. Jemma’s knee bumped his shoulder and he could feel her annoyance through their bond. “Look, I know she can bleeding defend herself,” he said. “But I’m her mate. It’s my duty. I need to.”

“Not helping that it’s her ex-fiancé knocking at the door is it?” Bobbi gave him a sharp look. Of course that didn’t help. Fitz nearly glowed green from the knowledge that a man who’d bedded Jemma was back and sniffing around. “Will knows she’s mated now,” Bobbi continued.

Elena snapped her book closed and set it down with a thump. “And that’s the problem.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at him. The need to shift, and maybe hide under the sofa, scratched at him. He hunched his shoulders. It appeared everyone had made a decision for him while he’d been upstairs. One he wasn’t going to like. Jemma put a hand on the back of his neck, her touch cool.

He had no doubt he wouldn’t like what she said next.

“We can’t risk you,” Jemma said her voice calm, though he could feel her fear. “I can’t risk you. If you see Will, or even smell him, you need to run. We all think he could potentially take your animal. I don’t want you to lose your wolf. For it to be taken and used against you.”

Fitz growled. “No. I’m not running.” He wouldn’t leave his mate alone with that abomination. Not while he drew breath. This lot were barmy.

Bobbi sat down beside Elena. “Fitz, nobody in the generation before us in this coven had a familiar. None of us do now except Jemma. There are a few mated couples in Russia, none in Ireland, France, Italy, nor Germany. If there’s any in North or South America I haven’t heard. The two great wars gutted us. Entire magic bloodlines wiped out. And so many shifters were killed that the odds of both sides of a mate-pair being alive and meeting are tiny.”

“In other words,” Daisy broke in. “We need both of you alive and screwing to make more potential witches and familiars.” Jemma scoffed and Daisy’s brow raised. “Have either of you done anything to prevent conception? We can all feel the mate bond between you two, so we know you’re getting naked together.”

Alarm flashed through Fitz. It hadn’t even occurred to him not to spend in Jemma. Should he apologize? Had Jemma expected him to pull out and then simply been polite when he hadn’t? He set his empty teacup down and glanced up at her while trying to sort his own feelings. Should he feel guilty? But now that the idea had formed in his mind, he couldn’t imagine anything more joyous than his mate carrying their child.

Jemma’s face looked dreamy. “Guilty.” She threaded her fingerers through his hair. “I suppose that’s a conversation we should have had.” Fitz leaned against Jemma’s leg. They should have.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her thigh.

“Don’t be, I didn’t even think about it until after the first time, and then I figured the magic had decided for itself, but I should have asked you. I’m quite content to have you building additions to our cottage.” He hooked a finger into his collar as he pressed hard against her. It felt like joy had replaced the blood flowing through him. “What do you think?” she asked, stroking his face.

“How I feel is indescribable,” he said. “I thought I was going to be alone my whole life. The proverbial lone wolf. But now…could be already…a family.” He looked deep into Jemma’s warm eyes. He could easily imagine their little home filled with laughter, toys, and children to care for and love. A few weeks ago it’d seemed more likely that he’d sprout wings and fly to the moon than find his mate and start a family. That he had Jemma and all those dreams could come true had him feeling like he really did have wings. He nuzzled Jemma’s hand and kissed her palm.

Bobbi sighed and Elena made a soft sound.

“Blerg,” Daisy said. “I’m glad it’s you, Jemma, and not me.”

Elena produced a pack of tarot cards and began to shuffle them, the sound sharp. “So you can see, Fitz, why if Will shows up again you have to run. Keeping you and your wolf safe from whatever he is.”

“No,” he said again, whipping to face her and bare his teeth. “Have the lot of you lost your marbles? I smell danger and I’m supposed to tuck tail and hare off, leaving my potentially pregnant mate alone to face it?”

“Yes,” Elena said. “Trust her. She needs more than your teeth. Jemma draws power through you, and you both amplify it and make it safe for her to do so. She needs you to be alive to do that.”

Fitz’s fists clenched. “I protect my mate. Raina is dead because she had nobody to watch over her.”

“Raina,” Bobbi said carefully. “Is dead because she attempted to perform the spell to bring Will’s animal back. It was too much for her and she perished.”

Jemma’s leaned forward, sliding her hand down his neck until it rested over his heart. “Is there anything else we can do to protect Fitz?”

“You could banish him,” Daisy said with a shrug. “From your home and the lands that belong to the coven. Maybe even all of Scotland or the British Islands, if we helped.”

“No,” Fitz barked at the same time Jemma gasped.

Bobbi rubbed her temples. “We already dismissed that idea, Daisy.”

Daisy blew out a smoke ring. “It would keep him safe. They can hear the options.”

“It’s not an option,” Fitz said. Nobody was going to force him away from his mate. Especially Jemma herself.

Elena stopped shuffling, briefly closed her eyes, and set out three of the tarot cards, face down on the table. “I’m asking for clarification about our situation,” she said to everyone as Fitz eyed the cards.

“Please,” Jemma asked, her magic waking up and stirring.

Elena paused. Her fingers hovered over the card, then she flicked it over.

The Tower.

Fitz’s blood ran cold. It meant destruction, a toppling of a way of life. Death. Jemma slid off the couch and into his arms. He held her close.

Daisy groaned. “Oh, fuck.”


	13. Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Sorry I'm a day late (thanks, work). This chapter makes slightly more sense if you know that sugar rationing in Britain ended in February 1953. There were forms of rationing up until 1958, when it ended for good. _

Jemma’s stomach dropped through the floor as Fitz’s worry blasted through their bond.

The Tower card sat mockingly on the table. Change. Upheaval. Disaster.

“Well,” Bobbi said brightly. “It might not be all bad. Does anyone want cake? I’m using up all the sugar I have on hand since it’s finally coming off rationing.”

“Nobody wants cake,” Daisy said, massaging her temples. Bobbi’s face fell. “I mean right now,” Daisy amended. “And we all know change is coming. Turn over the other cards.”

“I’d like cake,” Fitz whispered in Jemma’s ear. She patted his chest, her own insides too jumbled to even think about food.

Elena’s hand trembled as she quickly flipped the other two cards. The Five of Swords and the Queen of Pentacles. Bobbi, Daisy, and Elena all shifted their gaze to Jemma. She wished she could disappear. Pentacles was the earth suit. The Queen would be her, indicating that she was important in whatever was to come.

“What do you think the five means?” Jemma asked. The image of roiling clouds and no clear victor on the card always made her think of hollow victory. Something not worth winning.

Elena wrinkled up her nose. “Conflict?”

“Your cards aren’t being very helpful,” Daisy said. “We already know that things are going to change, that Jemma’s a part of that, and that we have a fight on her hands.” She sat back with a huff. “Some help that was.”

“Perhaps I can at least clarify what I’m supposed to do,” Jemma said. She held out her hand for a card. Elena gently fanned out the deck and offered it to Jemma.

Closing her eyes, Jemma let her fingers hover over the cards. She thought about Will’s angry face and her own power. She asked the deck to give her guidance. Her fingertips prickled as she waved her hand over the deck, and she followed the little flashes of energy until she made contact with the card that called her.

“You got it,” Fitz said as she teased her choice away from the rest of the pack. Once the card was in her hand, and Elena had sat back, Jemma grounded her energy and set the card down on the table. The Ten of Swords. In the image, a man lay dead on the snow, ten swords in his back. Betrayal.

“What did you ask?” Bobbi said, frowning.

“For what I should do about Will.”

“Stab him in the back, excellent plan.” Daisy was sitting up in her chair now, looking excited. 

Jemma laughed but it came out high pitched. “I think you should do the honors, not me.”

“Give me ten swords.” 

Elena picked up the cards and flipped through them. “I don’t think it’s being literal,” she said. “The cards seem to be talking about right now. Will might feel betrayed because his animal was taken from him. He wants to fight.” She shrugged and Bobbi put a hand on her back.

Jemma leaned against Fitz. The cards had all been so destructive, except for the Queen of Pentacles, which clearly put her in the middle of the conflict. Would she be the one betrayed? Or had Raina somehow betrayed her? Or were Will’s actions the betrayal? Surely the card had nothing to do with Fitz. Not her mate. He would never…what if it would be her doing the betraying? She fisted his shirt.

Fitz cradled Jemma close as he looked up at Bobbi. “Can we have that cake now?”

****

Jemma clutched the paper with the full moon ritual the coven would be performing in her hands. She sat in her car’s passenger seat, her mind still unsettled, and a box with the remaining cake on her lap.

Fitz sat in the driver’s seat, having asked to be the one to drive back to Pine Cottage. He muttered to himself as he mimed foot and hand actions and made indecipherable Scottish noises whenever something wasn’t clear to him.

“Where’s your collar?” she asked as he finally nodded and reached for the A30’s key.

Fitz hooked a finger under the front of his shirt. He pulled the collar up to show off the leather to her. “I never took it off,” he said with a shy smile.

Warmth blossomed in her chest. He hadn’t taken it off. Fitz leaned forward and kissed her softly. “I feel the same way you’re looking right now.”

She cupped his cheek. “Take us home.” His smile grew as Jemma leaned back in her seat. 

He started the car, stalled it on his first try, started it again, and this time managed to get them onto the street. As Fitz wiggled his fingers and shifted as they drove past the single inn the small town boasted. Jemma happened to glance over.

Partially obscured behind another auto was a black car that looked familiar. Or maybe it did. She lost sight of it too fast to be sure it was Will’s.

“What wrong?” Fitz asked, as he slowed and turned onto the road that would take them home. He would have felt the jolt through their bond.

“Nothing. I’m jumping at shadows now.” She told her heart to stop pounding. It was just a car. No reason to think Will still hung around. Only she knew in her bones he wouldn’t simply disappear. This wasn’t over.

By the time they reached the cottage, the sun was most of the way to the horizon. Jemma bustled inside, heading for the kitchen and teapot while Fitz inspected the house and the front and back garden to make sure nobody had been around while they’d been out.

“Only traces were from a deer,” he said, returning to the kitchen just as the water boiled.

She fixed him a cup and Fitz went to stare out the front door as the sun set. Holding her own mug tight for warmth, she joined him, leaning against his side. Longing seeped into her awareness.

“Do you wish you were out there? Maybe hunting that deer?” Jemma asked.

“Probably not, unless it was injured. One wolf by itself is better off not hunting large prey.”

“What about the rest of my question?”

He bumped his shoulder lightly against her. “A little, but only to let the wolf out for a run.” He heaved a sigh, his eyes still on the dark shadows under the trees. “And I have no intention of leaving your side. I swore to protect you.”

“I know.” Jemma took a sip of her tea as Fitz turned to look down at her. “But you have to let me do the same for you.” She didn’t want to fight, but he had to understand. “I have a need to care for you, and I don’t mean cooking and cleaning. I won’t let Will take your wolf or you for that matter. I can’t move heaven, but I will move earth to keep you safe.”

Fitz curled a hand around the side of her neck, his palm warm from holding his tea. “I’d hate to ever cross you. You might be a wee spoon, but you’re a fierce one.”

She turned her head and kissed his palm, not sure how else to respond, though she was buoyant from his faith in her. “If you stoke the fire, I’ll get dinner on, and we’ll get the house warmed up before bed.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re also a very practical little spoon?”

****

_The Next Day_

Jemma, coat around her, meandered through the woods that surrounded her cottage. The pines grew straight and tall, with bare-branched birches and willows occupying the banks of creeks. She didn’t bother trying to identify the individual species of plants in the underbrush right now, when they didn’t have their leaves. Late spring would be soon enough for that.

Fitz was wearing his fur-suit at the moment, ranging in a ring around her as she learned the contours of the landscape. She carried his clothes with her in a bag over her arm for when he tired of chasing mice and rabbits. All morning long he’d been antsy, pacing the hallway, and she’d finally asked if he needed to go run and if he’d mind some company. Now here they were, a few hours later, Fitz panting and happy, and honestly, Jemma felt good too.

The bark of trees she touched, the stem of a thistle that her skirt caught on, the flutter of wings among the pine boroughs, it all whispered _home_ to her now. Her bond allowed her to keep track of Fitz, who was slightly ahead of her, to the right, invisible among the shadows. Her magic kept her orientated and she knew right where the cottage was.

A deep vein of quartz running through the bedrock under her feet. It was a warm feeling, and she stood still, humming slightly as she bathed in it.

Raina had never said anything about how enjoyable it was to live here. Though she hadn’t had a familiar and perhaps it hadn’t felt as welcoming without one. Perhaps the wind hadn’t sung or the earth lifted her up as it did for Jemma.

Fitz padded out of the trees, and over to Jemma’s side. She picked up a stick and tossed it. “Fetch!” she cried with a giggle. Fitz just looked at her, and she laughed harder. “I’m kidding, but the look on your face was worth it.”

He huffed, then shifted, and she handed him his clothes, including a thick jumper because he was shivering as soon as his fur was gone. She only snuck a few looks at his arse as he dressed.

“Thank you, little spoon,” he said, nuzzling her cheek and pointedly not looking where she’d thrown the stick. He took her hand as they walked towards home.

“You know, you have to stop calling me little.” Jemma swung their conjoined hands.

Fitz laughed. “I hate to break this to you, but you’re short. Not much above five feet.”

“Three inches! As a man, you should understand the importance of every inch.” She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, laughing when he made a face.

“I haven’t heard any complaints from you.”

“That’s because I have none, but I’m not small, or little, wee. I’m not a child.” Fitz stopped and turned towards her. She let go of his hand and emphasized her point by running her hands over her hips.

His smile became, well, wolfish. “Don’t I know it. And I call you ‘little spoon’ because of how we sleep, and because you thought I said ladle when I called you my…my love.” His cheeks pinked and he looked down. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, and I’m rather fond of the bits of you that fill my hands and let me know that you are all woman.”

“Oh, Fitz.” She put her arms around him. “I never thought I’d appreciate somebody being around the way I do you.” She snuggled against his chest. “And I was wrong, you can call me little when it means that. Or ladle. Or anything. Just never let me go.”

Fitz stroked her hair. “M’eudail.”

****

Jemma scrubbed the last of the dinner dishes, humming along with the radio.

All afternoon the announcers had been giving dire snowstorm predictions, but it was just now that fat flakes had started to fall.

It made her feel safe. Nobody would risk being out in the weather. She was safe a snug in her cottage with Fitz. Even better was not having any obligations for the morning. No early shift at the hospital that she’d have to trudge through the bad weather to make. No dying patients she’d have to put a brave face on for and pretend to be cheerful over. No angry doctors to placate.

She dropped the plate in her hands back into the sudsy water and quickly dried her fingers on a tea towel before hiding her face in them to cry. She’d never again change bed linens under someone that couldn’t stand nor empty a bedpan. No more washing a body before the orderlies took it away to go to its final rest.

There was a clatter from the living room, followed by Fitz rushing into the kitchen.

“It’s okay,” she said, but he only took her hands in his.

“Talk to me?”

“I’m being silly.”

“I doubt that. Leave the dishes and come sit, I’ve been getting everything ready.”

Jemma followed behind him, stopping when she saw the living room. Fitz, who was hastily picking up and putting away the armload of wood that he’d dropped, had built up the fire and laid several quilts in front of it, along with some pillows. “Let me change,” she told him. “I’m not dressed right.”

“Into nothing?” he asked eagerly.

“Not quite.”

In the bedroom, cool air made her shiver. She quickly shimmied out of her workaday dress and pulled the nightgown she’d bought in town on. It skimmed over her, hugging every curve and barely covering the tops of her thighs. She’d felt a little silly purchasing it along with the new dress that’d caught her eye, but most of her wardrobe was very practical, and she’d wanted to see the look on her mate’s face when she appeared in silk and lace.

Fitz was sitting in front of the fire when she returned. The firelight glinted off his curls and danced in his eyes. She put a hand over her heart as heat surged through her.

She loved him.

The lights flickered and went out. Fitz cursed and started to stand.

“Leave it,” she said. He hesitated, but then sat back down on the quilt, tilting his face towards her. His jaw fell open.

“Jemma?”

“Do you like it?” She did a little twirl, very satisfied by his reaction. Entirely worth the price tag she’d goggled at.

Fitz nodded frantically and patted a spot between him and the fire as he lay down. She eagerly joined him after making him take off his shirt. She snuggled against his bare chest and planted a kiss on his chin. His collar still hung around his neck, and it made her glad to see it.

Fitz stroked her face with a finger. “Want to tell me what the tears were for?”

Straight to the point, but getting dressed had given her time to find a little clarity.

“I think…I think I’m grieving who I used to be, but I’m also relieved not to have to do it anymore. I like being here, living in sin with you.”

He tapped her bottom lip. “It’s not a sin, we’re mates.” She kissed his fingertip. “And do you mean what you did before here? Nursing?”

“Yes, I worked on a men’s ward, and I was proud of how I did my duties. And I don’t actually believe us being together is something wrong.” It was a beautiful thing.

“Weren’t you a nurse in the War?”

She nodded, images of broken young men winding through her head. “Only in London, I was too young to be sent to the makeshift hospitals elsewhere.”

Fitz looked askance at her. “But Jemma, you’ve been doing the same thing since them. It must be like the war never really stopped for you.”

“Did it ever really stop for anybody?” She flopped onto her back. “And my patients got older and their injuries and illnesses tended to be less the kind a bullet or bayonet causes.” She stretched. “I had this fellow not too long ago that stepped on a rake and it pinged him in the face. He lost an eye, which I suppose isn’t that funny, but it kind of was. I and some of the other girls got a good laugh out of it and tried to come up with some other stories he could tell. He was in on that. We decided on saying he’d been stung in the eye by a hornet while he was rescuing a child that’d stumbled into a nest.”

There was a tug on the side of her head as Fitz wound a strand around his knuckle. “I don’t know how you could do it, how you could keep caring year after year.”

“I just did.”

“I got to where I couldn’t stand people,” he said. “Not at the pub, or the sounds of someone opening a tin of sardines in the flat next to mine, or the drone of the electrician’s voice I was apprenticed to. I’d given so much. So many nights in bloody cold ditches undoing wires on a bomb that didn’t explode. After that, listening to someone complaining about the number of slices of cheese he got on a sandwich made me nearly murderous.”

“And one day you shifted and didn’t look back.” She understood. It was why nearly all her friends were other nurses. After keeping someone’s insides where they should be until a surgeon could take the patient to theater, you didn’t really find everyday problems like late trains such a big annoyance.

“I was done. My brothers were dead, my father had passed a long time ago, and my mum was gone. I was alone. I thought…that I’d never find you. He snuggled against her. “Every day among civilization grated like a rasp on my soul. The woods were all I wanted.”

“I’m glad you found me.” She scooted up so they were nose to nose.

“Aye, me too.”

“Is it very weird now, to be a human again? To talk to other humans?” She pressed her lips to his. “To kiss me?”

“Not as much as I believed it would be.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. A log cracked in the fire, and outside the wind howled around the eves. “Sounds like the storm is really getting going.”

“We’re safe in here.” Jemma pressed her palm to Fitz’s chest. “It’s still a little strange to kiss you. I thought that part of my life was done.”

Fitz pressed his lips into a thin line. “Tell me about him. Will, your fiancé, as you knew him. Not now.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Then it won’t take long.”

Jemma lowered her gaze from Fitz’s face, instead watching her fingers as she stretched them wide over his heart. She sighed. “You don’t really want to hear this.” The collar hung above her pointer finger and she gave it a poke.

Fitz tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yes, I do.”

“Don’t get mad if you decide you don’t later,” she warned, but he only kissed the corner of her mouth. “Fine. I’d seen him a time or two before he asked me out. We went to dinner at the cheapest place we could find near the hospital. He took me dancing. I fancied myself in love. We’d only been seeing each other a few weeks of us seeing each other when he received his orders to return to France. He brought me back to his hotel room, asked me to marry him, I said yes. For the next three nights, until he left, we slept together. Then he didn’t come back. End of story.” She closed her eyes. “I felt so guilty.” She still did, only now it was about not knowing Will had been more than he’d seemed.

“Why?” Fitz stroked a hand down her side.

“I hoped for a baby.” She popped an eye open. “The baby didn’t happen. It felt like my fault, like no part of him had survived because I hadn’t conceived.”

“That’s a lot to carry for so long.”

“It’s better now, the bastard.” Would he have returned earlier if she’d had a child? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Fitz put a hand on her hip. “I hope you don’t mind I’m very much hoping that perhaps we’ve started a family.”

“Not at all.” The image of Fitz cuddling his child made her smile. Or would it be a pup? “Um, Fitz, would, if it’s a shifter, would I have—”

“Human until the wee one is five,” he said with a laugh. “I had fun with my brothers as a pup, biting tails and learning to hunt with my mum, but a babe won’t shift at first.”

Jemma had a great deal to learn about shifters still, and the idea of a young child running much faster on four legs than her on two would be a worry. They’d constantly be muddy. And bringing frogs and whatnot home to chase. She couldn’t wait.

A strong gust of wind moaned around the eaves of the house, loud and plaintive. The sound sent chills down her spine.

“Ignore it,” Fitz said. “I’m going to distract you.” He slid a leg between hers.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Very well.”


	14. Fitz

_The Same Night_

Fitz had stopped trusting life to be anything other than a series of days a long time ago. People let you down. They died. Nothing was constant. He’d found solace in the indifference of nature. In the forest, he’d had no one to care for but himself.

He’d thought he’d wanted nothing more than the change of the seasons and the hunt.

The cottage shuddered as the wind hit it. In any other year, he would have been in a den, hungry because he couldn’t be out looking for dinner, and curled up with his tail over his nose to fight the cold. Alone.

Beneath him, Jemma moaned and wrapped her arms around him as her lips found his. Her hips rose, seeking him.

Fitz nipped and sucked at her lips, falling into the bliss of his mate. He wasn’t alone. Or cold. Being with Jemma was indescribable bliss, feeling her hands slide over his back while the heady scent of her arousal teased his nose. He’d found the peace he’d always wanted in her arms.

His witch.

Jemma had no idea how powerful she was. He could feel the force of it licking at him as her tongue dragged over his throat. It made the hair on his arms stand on end. It was going to be exciting to help her discover what she was capable of. He couldn’t wait for long summer nights together, or walking together amid spring flowers, or building snow forts with…with their family.

His once lonely life was very full of Jemma.

She made a plaintive noise while grabbing his arse.

Jemma needed to be full of him. His cock throbbed.

“You’re smiling,” Jemma said, breaking their kiss and dropping her head back against the floor. She stretched, and Fitz used it as an excuse to pull her exquisite new nightgown over her head. His jaw had nearly hit the floor when she’d returned wearing nothing but a bit of lace and silk. 

Jemma remained stretched out, her hands over her head and her legs splayed. Her smile became a bit shy, and while he knew she was sometimes flustered about her body, he had no clue as to why. Fitz scrunched up his nose, trying to look at her from the perspective of someone else to see what she could possibly be worried about.

He failed miserably. The wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t perfect to him. Her dark hair and gaze, the curves of her breasts and hips that called out for his touch, the sweetness hidden between her legs.

His mate was sexy as hell and he’d rip the jugular out of anyone that said differently.

“Now you’re scowling.” Jemma ran a finger down his nose.

“It’s all tied up with you being my mate,” he said. “You’re everything fascinating, and I’d maul any git who argued.”

She laughed, which made her breasts bounce. He dropped down and sucked a nipple between his lips. To his satisfaction, Jemma moaned, and her hands gripped his hair.

That was more like it.

Fitz sucked, nuzzled, and licked her tits until Jemma used her grip on his hair to pull him up so he was looking at her. Her hair was messier than before and her face was flushed.

“I think I’m wetter than the loch,” she gasped. “And I need you inside me. Now.”

“I can do that.” His cock ached.

Sitting up, he scrambled out of his kilt, his eyes never leaving Jemma as she slid her hand between her legs to rub her clit.

“I can feel that you want me,” Jemma said, her voice hoarse. “Through the connection. It’s all tangled up with my wanting.”

“Then you must know I’m desperate.” He fisted his prick and ran his palm up and down his shaft. Her longing was there, wiggling into his consciousness and mixing with his own lust. He tried to read through their connection how she wanted him, but there was no clear answer, only that she did.

Blast, he was going to have to ask.

“Jemma, how would you like—” He gestured at his prick, his only thought to please her. To do what she wanted. The collar hung around his neck and he touched a finger to it. He was hers.

Her answer was immediate. “Hard, fast, I want no other thoughts besides ones of you.”

“I…” He swallowed thickly. The best way to do that was for her to turn over, but they’d not done that yet, he’d been too worried she’d think him too much the beast. When he made love to her, he always wanted her to see than man.

Jemma must have picked up on his doubt because she sat up. One of her hands splayed out on his belly. “What is it?”

“I want to fuck you from behind. It’d be both hard and fast, but…would it be too much like the beasts in the field?”

One of her brows arched up as she drummed her fingers against him and he had a hard time not pushing her hand down lower. “You wouldn’t…um…ever…shift, would you? In the middle of us…” Jemma turned faintly pink.

He snorted, indignation making him huff. “I bloody well think not.”

“Sorry, you were worried and—”

“Always human, the urges are different as a wolf, it’s always the human part of me that wants you naked. The biology is different, you’d have to be a wolf, and in season, and—”

Jemma laughed. “I got it.” She ran a finger down the strip of hair that led to where his erection begged for attention, but she didn’t touch him, damn it. Instead, she rolled over and pulled her knees under her, presenting him with the slick folds of her cunt. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes heavy with lust. “Hurry up.”

_Fuck. _

He gripped his prick hard. “Spread your legs.”

Jemma’s thighs parted, and he positioned himself behind her. He traced a fingertip down her spine, caressing every bump as he rubbed the head of his cock over her pussy. She moaned every time he bumped her clit.

“Fitz, hurry.” Her hips rolled, and he had to bite back a chuckle. He felt every inch the man at the moment, with Jemma begging for him. He pushed the head of his prick into her opening, meaning to savor the feeling of filling her.

Jemma didn’t give him a chance. She pushed backward, enveloping his cock, and he had to grab her hips to stay upright.

“Is your hand between your legs?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes, please, please hurry.”

It was no hardship to do as the lady asked. He hammered into her, spurred on by her mewls and how her inner walls gripped his cock.

The fire felt too warm now and Jemma arched her back as they wildly coupled.

Her breathing hitched and her thighs trembled. She was close.

Fitz bit back a groan, and his head turned as a flicker of something caught his eye. The lamp was sputtering with an orange glow. The ceiling bulb was too.

Jemma came with a sharp cry. The lights flared to full life briefly before going dark again.

He looked down at the witch whose pussy was still milking him. That explained the wiring issues.

“Fitz, Fitz.” Jemma moaned as she pushed back towards him.

Dear god, he could feel her fingers rubbing at her clit. They moved back to feel where he was screwing her, tracing how her body stretched around his shaft and sliding through the slickness.

He needed to see her.

Fitz pulled out, his cock an angry red and his bullocks protesting. “Turn over, Jemma, please.”

She immediately did so, her eyes meeting his.

He dropped down and thrust deep inside her again, but now he could kiss her as her fingers dug into his back. The kisses were messy, and she bit him when she peaked again.

Fitz slowed his movements as Jemma shivered through her bliss. He was close, but he didn’t want this to end.

Jemma caressed his face with her hands. “Come, Fitz. I love you.”

Hell..she’d…she’d said…

Pressing his cheek to her palm, he thrust deep a half-dozen more times before emptying himself as far inside her as he could get. Pleasure radiated through him, and he collapsed forward, his arms and legs no longer completely under his control.

His mate hummed happily and softly stroked his shoulders.

When he could move again, he rolled to lie on his side next to her.

His brain was crowded, but there was a lot he needed to say.

“Thank you,” he managed, cupping her cheek. It was followed by, “I figured out the problem with the power.”

“Did you?”

“Wait…no. Dammit. Shite. That’s not the right order.”

Jemma laughed softly. “What is the right order?”

“First, I love you too.” Joy at finally telling her sparked inside him. He’d known it but saying it made it real. And she’d told him first.

Her eyes filled with warmth. “Oh, Fitz.” She kissed him tenderly.

“I love you and I figured out what’s wrong with the power.”

“Do tell.” She sat up and slid her nightgown over her head, which was a tragedy. Fitz only conceded to pulling his kilt back on after he stood.

“I think what’s causing it to keep going out is you.” He’d been worried after Will had shown that the berk might have had something to do with it, but now Fitz was certain it was simply a fact of life when you combined electricity with a talented witch.

“Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, and Fitz laughed at her petulant look.

“Because you’re a witch. Your power’s surging through the circuits, and it’s too much for the system to handle. You’re lucky I know my way around a bit of wiring.” He walked into the kitchen, following his nose towards a faint acrid burnt smell. The burnt wires were an easy fix and the power came back on when he flipped the breaker. 

Jemma chewed her lip as he put away the tools he’d used. “You really think it’s me?”

“The lights in the living room were glowing right before you came. That’s all you.”

Her face reddened. “Oh. Well, is there a way to stop that from happening?”

“More magic, I should think, but we can ask Bobbi when she’s here for the Full Moon.” There had to be a way to magically insulated the wiring from Jemma’s power surges.

Going to the front door, Fitz turned on the outside light before opening it. The worst of the storm had passed, but the snow was continuing to fall in puffy, white flakes. A flawless carpet covered the garden and forest.

“Wow,” Jemma said, peeking around him. “It’s gorgeous.” 

“It is.”

“Do you want to go and run?”

If Fitz hadn’t already been in love with her, that would have cinched it. “Part of me does, but most of me knows it’s not a good idea. It’s snowing too hard. My footsteps would fill up and I wouldn’t be able to see anything, meaning even I’d get lost.

“What about our bond, shouldn’t you always know which way was home? And with this weather nobody is going to risk being out in it, we’re safe.”

Fitz shut the door. “All those things are true, but I still rather be home with you.” He kissed her nose and went to hunt up a snack.

Jemma followed and watched him make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich but declined to have one. She sat across from him at the table, her eyes studying him.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he asked around a mouthful of sandwich. 

“Trying to picture our family.”

Fitz’s heart bounded in his chest. “Aye?”

“Where are we going to put them? This place is tiny.”

“That’s a lot more practical than I was imagining your thoughts to be.” He took another bite to give him some time before he replied. The cottage was meant for a witch. There wasn’t even room for overnight guests, which made the answer obvious. “We’re going to have to add on. Your magical supplies need to be in a secure place so little fingers can’t get into them.”

Jemma nodded. “Can I simply…magic more room?”

“Maybe?” He scratched his chin. “I wouldn’t advise you to try. That’s a lot of energy and every detail needs to be correct. You can’t be out even a centimeter or it’ll collapse. Do I think you could do it, of course, but I don’t think it’s worth exhausting you over when it can be done the old fashioned way well enough.”

“How many rooms do you think?” She stood and retrieved the kettle to fill before settling it on the stove.

Fitz watched her, delighted in how comfortable he was sitting in a kitchen, chatting with his mate while she made tea in her nightgown. “The number of rooms depends on the number of bairns you want.”

“Do I have to decide this minute?”

Fitz stood, fitting himself against her back and putting his arms around her. She relaxed against him. “No, but don’t take too long. I plan for us to keep practicing baby-making.”

Jemma’s cheeks pinked as if he hadn’t just tumbled her in their living room, and Fitz couldn’t help but grin.

His mate was going to be the best mum.

#

The next morning, Fitz woke to find Jemma’s side of the bed empty.

For a heartbeat he panicked, but then the blender turned on in the kitchen and he relaxed. She’d probably already done half a day’s work by the crack of—he checked the bedside clock—8:20 in the morning.

Sunlight outlined the curtains as Fitz stretched. He dressed, with a warm jumper and socks, and padded to the kitchen where Jemma stood at the stove, cooking eggs and singing along with the radio.

She grinned at him. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning. I seem to recall someone wearing me out last night.”

“Flatterer.”

Fitz laughed and claimed a morning kiss. If this was going to be the rest of his life, he was damn pleased with his lot. Maybe someday they could get a morning paper out here to read. Actually, it would be a good use of magic to make a paper appear on their table.

He’d bring it up with Jemma later.

“Have you been outside yet?” he asked.

“Too cold for my blood.” She slid the eggs onto plates were toast was already sitting. “But feel free to have a quick sniff.”

He took her hand after she wiped her fingers on a tea towel. “Let’s share it.” He wanted to watch her face at the way the sun would glint off the snow as if the world was covered with diamonds. And even her nose would pick up on how clean and fresh new snow smelled. “I’ll keep you warm,” he said when she hesitated.

“Quickly, because breakfast is waiting. I even managed to brown the edges of your omelet without burning it, much.”

“It smells delicious,” he said as he dragged her to the front of the cottage. “Thank you.”

Jemma pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed his neck as he opened the door.

The sun dazzled off the snow, but the scent that hit him wasn’t of a forest after a storm.

It was blood.

Jemma stiffened beside him and her grip tightened painfully around his hand.

On their doorstep was a fat robin with a hatpin shoved through its bright red breast.


	15. Jemma

The eerie calm that settled over Jemma as she stared at the stiff little body on her stoop felt all too familiar. When things went horribly wrong in the ward, when men were in the throes of death or blood spilled onto pristine sheets in an endless river, her mind narrowed its focus. Feelings got put away, shoved into a box. Jemma simply did what she had to do to take care of whatever was in front of her.

She took stock of the situation outside the door. Dead bird, pristine yard with no tracks—human or animal—in the snow. Everything lay under a blanket of white as far as she could see.

Fitz growled, and she shushed him. “Do you hear anything?” she asked.

He cocked his head. “Nothing but the woods.”

Jemma dropped her gaze to the robin. It was plump, winter not having taken a toll on it yet. “Poor thing, it didn’t deserve this.”

She knelt, and Fitz did as well.

He took a deep breath. “I can’t smell anything besides blood, but I can feel the lingering traces of magic around it. My guess is that someone used a charm to send it here.”

“Glad to know it wasn’t hand-delivered.” Jemma bent closer. “There’s a note rolled around the pin.” She reached for it, only to yelp as Fitz grabbed her and hauled her back inside.

He slammed the door closed. “What the bloody hell are you thinking?”

“There’s a message, I thought we should read it.”

Fitz was wide-eyed with his back pressed to the door. His chest heaved. He looked terrified. Jemma thought she must have missed something. There had been a slight tingle to the air, which must be the traces of magic Fitz had been talking about, but besides that, it was only a dead bird.

“It’s a bloody magical message left for us and it could be booby-trapped. You touch it and something goes off and you wouldn’t have a hand, or a head, anymore.” He spat the words at her through clenched teeth.

For a second she couldn’t believe he’d scold her as if she was a ninny. He could simply state he was concerned about magical traps, but as Fitz leaned against the door, pale and shaking, Jemma knew that what she saw was a man still fighting a war. The treaty had been signed and the guns laid down, but Fitz would never stop fighting it. He was protecting her because he loved her. His instincts had screamed that there could be a trap and she could have walked into it.

Jemma took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s okay Fitz, thank you. I’m here.” She held a hand out to him and after a moment, he left the door to grab it and pull her in a hug. His palm cradled the back of her head as he hid his face against her neck. His muscles were coiled tight, and she soothed her palm up and down his back.

“Didn’t mean to yell,” he said, the words muffled as he kept his face against her. “I’m sorry.”

“No need. You’re keeping me safe.”

“Highly unlikely there’s a tripwire attached to that bird.”

“That doesn’t mean your instincts are wrong.” She slowly rocked side to side, providing a soft place for him.

Fitz straightened up and gazed into her eyes. “Aye, maybe not, but you can put away the nurse now. I’m fine.”

“I don’t know if I can.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “There’s no off switch.” That was almost as frightening as finding the dead bird in the first place. She felt wooden. Dull. Hollowed out. She also wasn’t sure she believed he was “fine” but at least he seemed to be focused on her and not the pathways his mind had fled down a moment ago. “Sorry,” she added. “I’m like a train on its tracks. I’ll run through the process and be better here in a bit.”

Fitz grasped her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused. They needed to solve the bird problem.

“Blowing up the tracks.” Fitz ducked his head and kissed her. His lips and tongue moved against her with determination and he didn’t seem to be worried about the fact she wasn’t kissing him back.

Jemma tilted her head slightly and Fitz’s tongue pushed into her mouth.

It was as if a light clicked on in her mind. She wasn’t at the hospital, and Fitz, with his woodsy scent and soft lips, was doing something with her that her colleagues would not have approved of.

Too bad.

Jemma kissed back. Hesitantly at first, but then her panic ebbed, and she snogged him back eagerly. Her tongue swirled about his before exploring his mouth, mapping it out like an intrepid explorer. For long moments, her world consisted of nothing but him. His gentle breaths and needy sounds, his taste, his scent, the feel of his hands on her shoulders.

At last, she broke this kiss, now entirely herself with the past in the past where it belonged.

“Better?” Fitz asked, nibbling at her lower lip.

Jemma sighed in contentment. “Yes, that’s apparently exactly what I needed.”

“Glad to be of service.”

She rested a hand over his heart, wanting to pull him back down, and forget the entire world for hours and hours. Only they couldn’t, not with death waiting outside their door. “We really have to deal with that message,” she said.

Fitz chuckled but there was little mirth behind it. “Suppose so.”

“Any suggestions?”

“We open the door a hair and nudge it with the fire poker? If nothing happens, I’ll grab it and we can read the note.”

Jemma pushed off the wall to stand up straight. “That bird is not getting past the threshold. A dead robin is a harbinger of horrible fortune if it’s inside a home. I’d wager Will knows that and risked the misfortune of killing the bird because he thought we’d be dumb enough to pull it inside and inherit that bad luck. That’s a lesson I remember quite clearly from my early training.”

“I know better than to kill them,” Fitz said, striding to the fireplace and retrieving the poker. “And I hope the arse gets what he deserves.” He returned to the door, pausing to square his shoulders and straighten his spine.

Jemma stood well away, to make sure Fitz wouldn’t be more focused on her than getting the note. “You were right, there was a tripwire, a magical one,” she said. “We were supposed to make a doorway for evil into our home.” A chill settled over her. “We need to better protect the cottage.”

He nodded once. After a quick glance at her, he cracked open the door. Peeking around it, Fitz extended the poker and touched the bird with it.

Jemma squeaked, but nothing happened. After a second, Fitz dropped the poker, opened the door wide, and grabbed the pin.

“It’s not letting go,” he told her over his shoulder.

“Can you get the note?”

Fitz grumbled several colorful curses before he managed to unroll the paper from around the pin and stumble back a few steps. Despite the cold air, there was sweat on his brow. He held the note out to her with a trembling hand.

She snatched it and read the neatly printed words. Her heart plummeted to the ground.

“What’s it say, little spoon?” Fitz asked.

Jemma took a deep breath. “Don’t get comfortable. I’m going to get what’s mine.” Fitz growled, the sound low and menacing, and Jemma turned on her heel. She marched to the fire and threw in the paper. The edges of the paper turned black, then the entire thing crumbled to ash. She watched it until even that was gone. “I want that carcass off my stoop.”

“I can shift and—”

“Not today. Don’t leave me alone today.”

“M’eudail.” Fitz stood beside her, his strong hand coming to rest on her nape. “I’m here, but it’s up to you then.”

She was still barely connected to her body, let alone grounded in the earth. Drawing power up wasn’t going to be easy. “How?”

“Use the snow.” Fitz’s warm fingers stroked her. Gently, he guided her to stand in the open doorway.

Jemma closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the ground beneath her feet and the way Fitz’s warm fingers caressed her neck. Frigid air filled her as she breathed it in through her nose and back out through her mouth.

The rocks didn’t care about the season’s change. They endured. Warm days or cold days were all the same when you were quartz. She pressed her toes harder against the floor and imagined lines of force snaking through the snow, heading for the dead bird.

Nothing moved at first, and Jemma thought she might be better off getting a shovel, but Fitz’s presence beside her suddenly flared to brilliant life. Their connection became a live wire running from his hand through his body to the Earth’s core. Jemma hooked the tattered threads of her magic to it. Everything around her sharpened into focus at an atomic level. She could feel the web holding reality together.

It became easy to shape the world.

She opened her eyes as flurries of snow lifted the body of the robin from her stoop. Her hand moved slightly, pushing away from her, and the unfortunate animal was borne aloft, disappearing into the trees. She gave one last oomph to the magic, to get the robin as far away from the cottage as possible, and let her connections drop. She became plain Jemma again.

“That was impressive,” Fitz said as she shut the door.

“Thank you for the assist.” She brushed past him, heading for the bookshelves. “Let’s not waste time. We need to ensure no evil can simply waltz in the front door.”

Fitz trailed along behind her and waited as she flipped through several large spellbooks. The quickest involved simple ingredients placed in a jar and buried by the front door. She could handle that, but they needed a more intense witch’s bottle spell than what she’d found so far.

“Are you going to make me piss in a jar of broken glass?” Fitz asked, reading over her shoulder. “Might work to keep the wee folk out. Or a jar of snipped thread ends. Though, I think that’s to prevent vampires from coming in.”

Jemma dropped the book in her hands and whipped around. “Vampires?”

“Och, aye, don’t you know about those, lassie?” His lips twitched up into a smirk around his thickened brogue.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Funny, Fitz.”

“Actually, there are, but they consume energy, not blood.” His eyes narrowed. “And they better stay far away from you.”

She returned to sorting through spell volumes, dismissing emotional vampires as a non-pressing issue, and Fitz went to run his fingers over the spines of the books on a shelf. In a stack haphazardly piled next to the wall, Jemma found an old vellum-bound manuscript. Inside the ink was faded and the writing spidery, but spells were strong enough that even the words on the page hummed with power. A bit of envelope marked a page, and Jemma turned to it. The envelope had Raina’s name on it, and Jemma pushed it to the side to find the exact spell she needed.

“Thank you, Raina,” she whispered. “Fitz,” she said louder, making him jump. “I have something, come look.”

He trotted over and frowned down at the words, after a moment he pulled the book from her hands. “This belonged to some ancestor of yours,” he said. “It’s a personal grimoire, and you’re right, this would do the trick.”

“Do you think Raina had the ingredients? Maybe she meant to get them and marked the page for later because she couldn’t cast it right then? I don’t recognize half the things listed.” Jemma felt a tug in her heart towards whatever long-dead woman wrote the words. A great grandmother or aunt, perhaps many times removed, who’d carefully recorded this spell which would now keep her descendent safe.

Fitz shook his head. “Raina had all this. If I had to guess, she was hanging onto the belief that Will was her familiar and they were meant to be. Though she must have started to worry if she marked the spell.”

“There’s eye of newt in here,” Jemma said, tapping her finger over the words. “I really don’t think she has that, and a whole jar full would be a lot of newts.”

Fitz laughed, loudly. “Yes and no,” he said, going to where the jars of herbs were stored. After a moment's perusal, he plucked one up and handed it to her. It was labeled ‘mustard seeds’ in Raina’s handwriting. “In old books like these, outlandish things like that are a code. It prevents anyone not in the know from trying to perform the magic. Those odd ingredients are mostly herbs. Like those mustard seeds are whitish with a black dot, almost like tiny little eyes.”

Jemma held up the jar and peered at the contents. The seeds did seem like they were peering back at her. “What about the fairy thimbles?”

“Foxglove. A lot of common plants have many different magical names, which can be confusing, but I think I know most of these.”

She clutched the seeds to her. “Can you gather what we need? I’ll set up in the living room.”

It took them more than an hour to prepare for the spell, along with locating an empty jar and rusted nails. Jemma sacrificed the small mirror out of her makeup compact to reflect evil back on itself. She cast a proper circle, called the spirits to witness, and carefully worked the spell to charge the bottle. She had to hold the image of the cottage, protectively surrounded by a perfect sphere of magic, in the front of her mind for ages.

At the end of the spell, she held both of Fitz’s hands and chanted their combined will and energy into the witch’s bottle.

When the last syllables died away, she let out a deep breath. “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Fitz echoed.

She quickly ended the spell and released the circle. Fitz shifted and dug a hole beside their front step for the bottle. Jemma set it in place carefully, the mirror’s reflective surface pointing away from the cottage. She filled in the hole and went to the kitchen to warm up and clear away their now-cold breakfast.

The aftereffects of the spell’s energy were zipped through her as she tidied. It felt almost like she was floating. “I need to eat in order to ground myself,” Jemma said as Fitz, back to human, returned. He made a non-committal noise in response. It wasn’t like him to turn down food. “I’m buzzing, aren’t you supposed to help?”

Fitz brushed a bit of hair behind her ear. His curls were mussed, and his stubble was approaching just being a proper beard. Beneath the thin fabric of the white t-shirt he wore, the muscles of his arms and chest bunched as he shrugged. Her mouth watered. “Aye, I’m going to, but I’m not sure it’s food I’m hungry for.”

She whimpered and fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him roughly towards her as she backed up. Her legs bumped into the table. Sitting on it, Jemma spread her thighs wide as Fitz pressed against her. She nuzzled his neck. 

Her fingers hauled up the back of his kilt until she could palm his bare arse and squeeze it. “I think you should still eat,” she muttered against the corner of his jaw.

Fitz grinned and sank to his knees. “It was right kind of you to put lunch on the table for me.”

Jemma wished she had a cheeky reply for that comment, but Fitz was already pushing her skirt up and tasting the inside of her thighs. She had to fall back on propriety. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I apologize for the delay, I almost didn't make this update either, on Thursday I came home and my husband was like: impromptu camping trip! And now I'm sitting in a pop-up trailer in Elephant Butte, New Mexico. (right near Truth and Consequences) We're worried my work (as a nurse) is going to get really rough over the spring and summer and wanted us to have some time together before that. But I made it with the update!! Yay!! _


	16. Fitz

Warmth permeated the kitchen, along with the scent of baking soda bread. Fitz sat on the floor, overwarm in his fur with his tail curled around his paws. Jemma had the radio playing and she sang along as she fussed with her blender. The recipe involved onions, potatoes, and tins of fish.

Jemma opened the oven door and bent over to check the bread. Her black capris neatly outlined her arse.

Fitz whined softly. If he shifted, he could have her naked and be inside her in—

“Don’t even think about it,” Jemma said, closing the oven and glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’m determined to make this bread work, I’ve got yeast rolls rising, and I’m putting dinner together.”

He huffed.

“None of that. You’d be very sad later and making giant puppy dog eyes at me if you didn’t get supper.”

Fine, she was right. He stood up, paced in a circle, and sat down again. They’d both stayed inside for several days, even though the snow had melted away to nothing and there’d been no further sign of Daniels.

Fitz’s eyes went to the window over the sink as he imagined padding through the autumn woods. It’d give him a chance to check on the land around the cottage and make sure everything was secure. If he flushed a rabbit or two out during his survey, there wouldn’t be any harm in that either. His gaze returned to his mate as the instinct to protect warred between wanting to have a good sniff for intruders and wanting to never leave Jemma’s side.

Jemma came over and scratched at his ears. “I’m safe,” she said. “The spell around the house is strong. Why don’t you go for a run? Give me a couple of hours, just don’t eat any mice and ruin your dinner.”

He gave a sharp bark of agreement. As if a bit of tiny bones and fluff would be preferable to her cooking. His mouth watered at the thought of how perfectly burnt she managed to get the edges of things.

Jemma stroked his fur again, a smile playing over her lips. After a last pat, she strode to the back door and opened it. He hesitated only a moment before darting through it. In the middle of the garden, he paused, turning back to watch her wave before closing the door.

Fitz darted under the canopy of pine boughs. Passing through the bubble of the protection spell was like swimming through treacle until he abruptly found himself on the other side of it. The spell was much stronger and protected a larger area than he’d been expecting. Jemma’s power was vast, and in a few years, when she’d learned how to wield the full extent of it, she’d be known as the most powerful witch to have arisen in generations.

He flopped over on his back, wiggling around in joy because he was her mate. Every familiar lauded their witch, but his really was the best. Fitz felt sure of it. Rolling back onto his paws, he trotted along, nose to the ground, sniffing for any scent that didn’t belong.

His trek carried him in ever-widening circles around the cottage. Traces of deer made him daydream of making a kill, though Jemma would be very cross if he dragged a fresh deer carcass home. The risk of getting hurt wasn’t worth whatever satisfaction the kill would bring, either. You needed a pack for larger game.

Maybe one day he’d have pups to teach how to hunt, as his mother had with him and his brothers. Those were good memories. Days of tracking and nights spent under the stars with a full belly. 

Trotting down the drive, he stopped to lift his leg on a rock. Marking the woods and cottage as his. A home for his witch, him, and soon enough their children.

He rounded a corner and froze, his hackles raising.

A big, black car was parked in the dirt ruts and a man leaned against the side of it, his eyes fixed on Fitz. The wind shifted and the scent was unmistakable. This was Will Daniels.

Fitz growled, showing his teeth even as he studied Will. This was the man Jemma had once believed she’d make a life with, and whose death had left her grieving for a decade. The git was taller than Fitz had been expecting, and might be called handsome if his face hadn’t been twisted into a smirk.

Fitz hated him.

Cutting off the growl, Fitz sauntered over to the car, made a show of sniffing one of the tires before lifting a leg and pissing on the rubber.

Will crossed his arms and glared. “I know you’re the witch’s familiar,” he said.

Fitz lowered his leg and trotted back up the road, not wanting to discuss anything with someone that had not only lain with his mate but had also given up his animal. And Fitz had made his opinion clear.

The worry that Will could somehow take his wolf made Fitz break into a run.

“Wait,” Will called. “I want to talk to you.”

Fitz turned to get off the road and into the trees.

“Stop,” Will said, sounding weary. “Or I will kill her.”

Fitz’s skidded to a halt, his heart hammering in panic. He glanced back at Will. It had to be a ruse. She was safe in the cottage’s kitchen, where this man couldn’t so much as lay a hand on her.

“She can’t stay in that house forever.” Will walked away from the car. He took his fedora off and raked a hand through his hair. Fitz hated that he had to admit Will was right. Eventually, Jemma would need to shop or see her coven. Fitz reluctantly turned to face Will. “And I just want to talk. I need Jemma to do the spell. You have to understand, losing my animal…I just want it back. I was a damned kid in a war, I didn’t know what I’d agreed to.”

They’d all been kids, what was this bastard’s point?

Will sat on the ground. “You’re lucky, you know.” He waved his hat at Fitz before plopping it back on his head and pulling out a pack of smokes. “Jemma is one hell of a dame.”

Fitz growled.

“You don’t need to start with that.” Will lit his cig and took a pull. “I knew she was special the first time I saw her. And I was going to tell her, y’know, about the shifting before I married her.”

Fitz took a step back, away from the man sitting, smoking, and discussing his mate as if she was just some skirt and he and Will were sharing a pint in a pub. The reminder that Jemma had loved Will once upon a time was a splinter under Fitz’s skin, which Will most likely knew.

Will look a long drag on his cig, blowing the smoke out slowly. “The memory of Jemma on her back with her legs spread got me through a lot of lonely nights on the front lines.”

The bloody nerve.

“You say her name again and I will rip your throat out,” Fitz snarled, belatedly realizing he’d shifted. He was crouched down, his bits not on display, but he suddenly felt much more exposed in his human form. It was also freezing out. The air bit at his bare skin, making him shiver.

A half-smile pulled up one corner of Will’s mouth and he looked like he’d just won a prize. Fitz sighed, the arse had scored a point with goading Fitz into shifting. Running away would have been the best course of action, but since Fitz had a voice like this, he might as well use it.

“Sod off,” he said, hands tightening into fists.

Will cast a critical eye over Fitz’s human form. “You’re not her usual type.”

“Aye, I’m loyal and not a feckless wanker that left her crying.” He resisted the urge to touch the collar around his neck. No need to point that out, Will would only try to twist it into something disgusting.

With a chuckle, Will blew smoke in Fitz’s direction. “Don’t get high and mighty about being her familiar when I wasn’t. There’s not much magic left in the world, none of us expect to ever meet the one we’re meant for. She and I would have got on well enough. A potential witch and a shifter. We would have had a bunch of rug rats and been the same middling kind of happy most people are.”

“Rats?” Fitz fought to keep from shivering in the chill. His bollocks wouldn’t be heard from until spring at this rate. “Is that what you were? A rat?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Will waved his cigarette around. “But no, I was a mountain lion. And I will be again. Your witch is powerful, unlike Raina, Jemma can do the spell and live.” Something dark seethed deep in Will’s eyes.

A chill not related to the temperature ran down Fitz’s spine. Whatever this man was, he wasn’t exactly Will Daniels. “Leave us be,” Fitz said, striving to keep any traces of fear from his voice. “Jemma isn’t doing some shite spell.”

“As I said, I will kill her if I need to. Or maybe you, right in front of her. She’ll do it when it’s your life on the line.” Will spoke without a hint of emotion.

“If you had ever loved her, you wouldn’t say that.”

For a second, Will grimaced, the corners of his mouth pulling back too far. His teeth snapped sharply together, and Fitz fought down a whimper of fear as something not human rippled across Will’s face, briefly distorting his features.

Terror made Fitz’s stomach drop. This _thing_ didn’t care about the missing animal, it’d eaten that part of Will and was still hungry. It wanted Jemma, with all her power, and it’d chew her up until there was nothing left.

Will, or more accurately, the thing wearing Will’s face, raised its hand, the glowing end of the lit cigarette flaring brighter. It drew a line in the air, leaving a glowing path.

The world around Fitz warped. The wind grabbed at him and the ground mired his feet. Tentacles of force tried to wrap around him. He’d be snared, unable to get to his mate.

It was not nearly as scary as being perched half in a hole, attempting to dismantle a bomb wire by wire.

Will’s plan seemed obvious, binding Fitz and using him to draw out Jemma. The magic tightened as Will made another line in the air.

Fitz wouldn’t be used as a trap to lead Jemma to harm at the hands of this monster. The spell congealing around him had an obvious flaw. Will had been too long without his animal form and the magic sought to bind Fitz’s human arms and legs.

Shifting, he took off as soon as his paws hit the ground. He ran, tearing down the dirt road without looking back. The last traces of the spell Will had started weren’t completely stripped away until Fitz pushed through the protective spell guarding Jemma and the cottage.

The back door was cracked. He pushed his way in, immediately shifting back to human. The soda bread rested on the table, smelling delicious even to his human nose. The yeast rolls must not have turned out as well. Jemma was holding one, a small dark sphere. She dropped it on the counter, where it landed with a thump.

“I’m afraid I failed horribly at the rolls, but I have the potatoes—” She turned to look at him and her hand flew to her mouth. “Fitz!”

She rushed across the room to throw her arms around him. He hugged her tight, pressing his nose to her neck and breathing in her fern and ice scent.

“What happened?” she asked. “You’re freezing. Into bed with you until you’ve warmed up.” She led him, holding tight to his arm when he stumbled, into the cozy bedroom and pulled back the bed linens. He fell onto the mattress and curled up into a ball. There was a rustle, then Jemma wrapped herself around his back, a great deal of her skin pressed to his. She pulled the quilt up to their chins. “Was it Will?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Yes.” He shuddered, feeling phantom tentacles of the spell as if they were still wrapped around him. “But whatever that man is…he’s no longer Will. I don’t…” Fitz trailed off, not sure if he should scare his mate by telling her what he’d felt in that creature’s presence.

Jemma kissed the back of his neck while pressing her hand to the chest. “Tell me,” she said. “I know your instinct is to protect me, but don’t do it like this. We work better together.”

“M’eudail.” He wiggled and turned to face her. Jemma’s eyes were warm amber, filled with more love than he’d ever believed he’d be worthy of. “You’re right, like always. Will, after insulting you—”

“The rat bastard.”

“That’s what I said. He continued blathering on, but something dark is behind his face and that dark thing is hungry. I don’t think Will is really looking to get his animal back, I think that thing wants your power. If I hadn’t run when I had, he would have trapped me to get to you.”

“Your wolf!” she gasped.

“I don’t know if he was going for that.” Fitz stroked her hair. “Maybe. I don’t want to think about it.” He shivered, despite being warmly wrapped up with his mate. “But I won’t leave here again, not until this is over.”

To his surprise, tears slipped down Jemma’s face as her eyes fluttered closed. “Fitz, this is my fault. You’re meant to run amid the trees and along the shores of the loch, not be cooped up in these walls.”

“Bollocks to that.” His were much more comfortable now, and his prick had figured out he was naked in bed with an almost bare Jemma. It twitched to life, and he cupped her cheek, pressing his mouth to hers before she could say anything else. The only place he belonged was with her. He was meant to be here, in her bed. He had been born to love her.

He kissed down her neck, rolling her over onto her back.

“Fitz, we should discuss—”

“Later,” he whispered, claiming her lips again. Desperation sang through his veins. He wanted to erase every memory she had of that berk, all the hurt he’d caused, and was still causing her.

The only magic he wanted binding him was the ties that linked him and Jemma. He’d lost his family, to guns and time, and he’d been powerless against any of it, but with Jemma, he could defend her. He would keep her safe.

Or he would die trying.

****

Fitz startled awake.

No light seeped through the curtains. It must still be night. After making love, they’d eaten dinner—he’d eaten all of his and most of Jemma’s—and ended up back in bed again.

Luckily, Jemma had stayed away from talking about the day’s events. Instead, she’d lamented her failed rolls. There were too hard, at least for human teeth, but he’d slipped a few into a low cupboard to chew on later when he was wearing his fur. Next time he’d encourage her to use her magic to help the yeast. They were plants, she was an Earth witch, it should be easy.

Beside him, Jemma slept peacefully, her face relaxed and her breathing soft and even.

Restless, Fitz slipped out of bed and went to the window. He pushed the curtains aside and pressed his palms against the cool glass. In good Scot’s tradition, it was drizzling, the drops running down the panes blurring the light of the moon and stars and making the forest look like a hazy dreamland.

He knew exactly how it’d smell, damp loam and wet leaves to muffle his steps as he stalked a rabbit. Owls would hoot and the branches of the trees would sing their song in the wind, one underscored by the patter of the raindrops.

Jemma fussed in her sleep, her hand coming to rest where he should be lying while a small frown marred her brow.

Fitz let the curtains drop close and returned to the bed. He lay on his back, and Jemma snuggled up beside him, her head resting on his chest. Warm puffs of breath tickled his chest hair.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, breathing in her scent, letting it chase all the remembered ones away. Fitz reached up and touched the collar around his neck, the leather soft under his fingertips.

The rain picked up, drumming against the window.


	17. Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: The black moment is in these two chapters (aka the moment when nothing feels like it can be fixed that makes the reader want to toss the book across the room), I do not blame you if you want to back out until Chapter 19 is posted! But I promise there's a Happily Ever After waiting! _

The main street of Glass River was covered in dirty slush. Jemma hunched in the passager seat while Bobbi drove through the melting snow. Outside the window, the leaden sky looming over the town and its people, their faces unfriendly as they ran from store to store bathed in a chilly mist of rain.

Jemma scanned the street for Will’s face. Or his car. Or any hint that the grey fall day wasn’t what it seemed. But everything remained completely, boringly, normal. She wrung her hands in her lap, missing Fitz, even though she could still feel the warm comfort of the bond between them. The shopping had to be done because they needed to eat and live regardless of whatever threat existed. So here she was, contemplating the greengrocer's store as if it might be filled with monsters instead of apples and lettuce.

Fitz had been a bit of wreck when she’d gotten into the car, only willing to let her go because Bobbi would be protecting her. Elena believed that Will must be more attuned to Fitz’s shifter energy and it would attract less attention if Jemma was the one who went, her energy masked by Bobbi’s.

Jemma had only been able to stop herself from jumping out of the car and running back to Fitz because Elena and Daisy were there to keep an eye on him and the cottage. Elena had brought stuff to cook something from her home country, and the swirl of spices had made Fitz’s mouth water. Jemma had felt that through the bond clear as day.

She hoped he was still focused on that and not staring out the window waiting on her to get back. With the distance between them, she couldn’t get a clear read on his emotions, which was its own kind of nerve-wracking.

“If you’re not careful, that line between your brows will become permanent,” Bobbi said as she pulled the car into an open parking spot. The pristine white of the butcher’s shop was visible through the rain-streaked front window. Fitz would like a steak. “Jemma?” Bobbi asked, voice laced with concern.

“Sorry.” She blinked and turned towards Bobbi. “Woolgathering.”

“Liar, but I promise you’ll get home to your mate in one piece.”

“Thank you.”

Jemma remained in her seat as Bobbi exited the car. They’d agreed on this, Bobbi would stand on the pavement and magically scan the area, and if it was clear she’d open the door for Jemma. Bobbi, dressed in a sensible blue checked dress with a coat over it, slowly pivoted a full circle, her lips moving silently while she slid her thumb back and forth over an amulet clenched in her hand.

After a moment, Bobbi relaxed and opened Jemma’s door. “We should be fine, where do you want to start?”

“Clothing, Fitz needs a few things.” And she needed knickers, as a certain shifter kept pulling hers off and then, somehow, losing them.

Bobbi remained on alert as they worked their way from the clothing store to the shoe store, to the dry goods shop, the baker’s, and the greengrocer.

The knot in Jemma’s chest wouldn’t ease, it just grew tighter as the grey clouds turned black. Some out of fear of Will finding away around Bobbi to get at Jemma, but also because Jemma had something to ask her coven sister.

While Bobbi secured bags of fruits and veggies in the boot of the car, Jemma tied a kerchief around her head in anticipation of the rain getting heavier.

“Last stop?” Bobbi asked, gesturing at the butcher’s.

“Yes, but…” Damn it, this was so bloody hard to say.

Bobbi’s eye’s narrowed. “But what?”

“I was—” Jemma broke off, her middle churning. Bobbi stepped closer, putting a hand on Jemma’s arm. She gathered her courage. “You said something about being able to banish Fitz? I…I…” she broke off and put her hand to her throat. It felt like the words were threatening to choke her.

“In the car.” Bobbi hustled her into the passenger seat before going to sit behind the wheel. She locked the doors.

Jemma’s hands shook, and Bobbi wrapped them in her warm ones.

“I don’t think I can banish him,” Bobbi said. “I’ve tried to find ways, but your mate-bond would always prove the stronger magic.”

Jemma tried to keep the desperation out of her voice when she spoke. “Then what can I do? I love him. I can’t stand to think he’d be hurt or worse because of me. Will isn’t going to stop until he has me to do the spell for him.”

“I know.” Bobbi stroked her thumb over Jemma’s knuckles. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Jemma’s stomach dropped. The interior of the car felt too small, and the rain now pounding on the roof too loud. “Say it.” Anything. She’d do anything to protect Fitz.

Bobbi grimaced. “You can break the bond. He’ll leave, most likely disappearing back into the forest once the pull of you as his mate is gone.”

Jemma closed her eyes. The darkness there mirrored the darkness that would yawn open in her soul if she severed her link to Fitz. “But won’t he still love me?”

Bobbi’s fingers tightened around hers. “That won’t survive him knowing you were his mate and chose to shatter that bond.”

Jemma understood because she could imagine the look on Fitz’s face, all the pain, and confusion. She would walk out the other side different if she chose this path. Fitz gone and hating her, Jemma herself possibly dead from the spell Will demanded, and if she survived, she’d be alone until the grave. No possibility of another mate, and honestly, she’d never want to touch another person after knowing the way her mate’s fingers worshiped her.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Is that a decision?” Bobbi’s voice was soft, sounding as if it came from far away.

Jemma nodded. “I’ll never stop loving him.”

“I know.” Bobbi glanced out the window at the butcher shop.

“What do I have to do?”

Bobbi sighed. “I knew this would happen. Elena saw as much in the cards. We made an amulet so you wouldn’t have to cast a circle. You hold the intention, mutter the words, and press the amulet to his skin.”

Jemma let go of Bobbi’s hands, shrinking back. Her coven had known this would come to pass? Had prepared for it? “Thank you,” she managed to mutter.

“Don’t.” Bobbi looked at the shop again. “Let’s go get your meat. The amulet’s in the butcher’s shop.”

Jemma gave a surprised bark of laughter. “What, with the chops and sausage?” She should get sausage, Fitz would adore it. Provided this place’s didn’t consist of mostly bread. Blasted rationing.

“Hunter works here, I gave it to him for safekeeping.” Bobbi smiled slightly at the mention of her boyfriend.

Jemma attempted her own smile, though she was probably making a hash of it. “It’ll be nice to finally meet him.” Right as she planned to scuttle her relationship. Her life. Her very heart.

The rain still pelted down, but Jemma had already learned that in the Scottish highlands there wasn’t much use in waiting for it to lighten up. She stepped out into the downpour and raced into the butcher’s, Bobbi right behind her. The interior was chilly and faintly smelled of blood.

Jemma wiped the damp from her face as a smiling man with short-cropped hair and a wide smile came out from the back. He was dressed casually, with a white apron around his neck that had strings that wrapped several times around his waist.

“Morning, luv,” he greeted Bobbi, his English accent startling Jemma. “This must be the new coven member. Jemma from London, yeah?”

“Yes.” She held her hand out. “Jemma Simmons.”

“Lance Hunter. Call me Hunter.” His fingers were surprisingly warm as he firmly shook her hand. When she let go, Hunter turned and gave Bobbi a kiss on the cheek and what had to be a pinch on her bottom from how Bobbi jumped and blushed.

They were very cute together.

Jemma dug her rationing book out from her pocket, it’d been stamped when she’d been in before by a burly Scotsman with thinning hair who must be who Hunter worked for.

“How’s the sausage?” she asked.

Bobbi groaned. “No jokes,” she warned. “Jemma’s having a rough day. Besides her order, we need the box I gave you.”

Hunter’s face grew serious. “Yeah, let me get it while you ladies make your selection. And the sausage is almost entirely pork, we’ve got a good local pig farmer.” He headed into the back, leaving Jemma to stare at the bits of chopped up animal on display. Their case wasn’t full, but the selection was more than she’d been expecting. More animals that’d died and been sawed into pieces.

She shivered.

“Hunter will give you extra for Fitz,” Bobbi said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” A glance at Bobbi showed Jemma that Bobbi absolutely knew that wasn’t the problem.

“That’s good.”

“We’ll be here for you.” Bobbi had dropped her voice. “If you decide to do this. We’re your sisters now, we will be there for you.”

To be a shoulder to cry on. “Thank you.”

Hunter returned and handed her a small wooden box. She couldn’t feel any magic coming from it. “It’s in there?” she asked, not wanting to open the lid and come face to face with the thing that would end all her dreams.

“It won’t activate until you tell it to.” Bobbi took Hunter’s hand. “There’s a paper with the words to that effect in there.”

Jemma put the box away. She loved Fitz enough to bear this pain. Fitz alive and far away from her was better than him here and dead. Maybe one day he’d understand. “I’d like two steaks, please, and three sausages.”

#

Jemma stood at the stove, the sausages sizzling in a pan. The scent of the chicken and rice Elena had made and Fitz had raved about still clung to the kitchen, but lunch had been hours ago and Fitz’s stomach had started rumbling. She didn’t know if she’d ever be hungry again, not when the box that would end her happiness sat in a dresser drawer under an old pair of knickers.

She could tell Fitz what she was thinking. Probably she ought to, but she knew he’d easily talk her out of it. She wanted to be talked out of it. Only then he’d die. This wasn’t going to end without a death, and if Fitz was no longer her mate, and no longer in love with her, then he’d be safe.

In time the hurt would fade and he’d be fine, as he’d been before he’d met her.

The sausages sizzled loudly in the pan. She had toast made, and berry smoothies from the blender. It was an alright dinner when it was just them, but not if there were hungry little ones…

She stopped short, fighting back tears. There’d be no children now unless she already carried a babe, but there was a good chance her life wouldn’t extend as far as Yule after Fitz left. Maybe not even long enough for her to know she was expecting. It’d be better if she didn’t know.

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, only to yip as a strong pair of arms looped around her. “Is everything alright, little spoon?” Fitz nuzzled at the sensitive spot behind her year. “Did something happen in town that you’ve not told me?”

_ Yes. _ “No, but I’m maudlin over…” She couldn’t even come up with a good reason.

“I hope it’s not the sausages, they smell delicious. Though I think I still like your scent more.”

Jemma burst into sobs. She turned and hugged Fitz tightly. She’d never thought being around another person could feel like this. Her family had been loving enough, but once Raina had been chosen by the power, Jemma had become someone who existed only on the periphery, valued only for what she could do as a breadwinner and caretaker. Fitz had never known her as the dutiful nurse, he loved her simply for herself. For this shining instant, she was truly part of a couple. Before, with Will, she’d hardly known him. She’d loved the idea of what their life would be like more than the man himself. With Fitz, she’d learned the joy of treasuring another person.

She was going to miss him so much, but he wasn’t gone yet.

“Little spoon?” he whispered, sounding unsure. She hated that she’d made him feel like that.

“I love you.”

“Love you too. Can I help? What’s wrong?”

Everything was wrong. She wiped her face against his shoulder before laying her head there. “I think I need to feel the earth under my feet. Can we spend a little time in the forest tomorrow? I want to make love under the sky, provided the rain lets up.” It’d be a perfect goodbye. She’d take him to the spot she’d been at when he’d run out of the trees that first time.

One last night to cuddle by his side, and one last time to feel the perfection of their pleasure.

“Aye, I’d like that. Brilliant thinking.”

He kissed her forehead and she sagged against him, feeling like a prisoner that’d just chosen their last meal. Only what was being executed was their love.

She hated Will. Hated that he’d taken her future from her again.

With perfect clarity, Jemma saw her path forward.

She’d let Fitz go, and then she’d make sure Will, and the thing that hid behind his face, would never hurt anyone again. In some ways, a bit of her would always be trying to save people, and giving her life to ensure that Will would be stopped would be a sacrifice worth making. The only hard part would be severing the mate bond.

None of her wanted to do that. It’d be like removing her lungs and trying to learn to breathe again, but she’d grow gills if she to because Fitz being alive was the only thing she needed. If only she could make herself believe it.

“Are the sausages almost done?” Fitz rumbled. “They smell perfect.”

A tendril of burning smoke batted at her nose. Oh, bloody hell. She spun and yanked the pan off the burner. The sausages rolled, revealing one side blackened to a crisp.

Drat and damnation.

“You always make everything just like I like it,” Fitz said, grinning. “I don’t know how you do it.”

She didn’t either.

She had no idea how to do what needed to be done. 


	18. Fitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ Two chapters posted today, make sure you read chapter 17 first! _

Pots clanked together loudly as Jemma tossed the one she’d just dried into the cupboard with the others. The cupboard door slammed closed. Fitz winced where he sat at the kitchen table and worried about the safety of the dirty glasses that still needed washing. He picked at the toaster innards, teasing apart burnt wires for an attempt at fixing the poor thing. It’d caught fire while Jemma had been making breakfast that morning. The work also let him stay in the same room as his grumpy, upset mate after she’d snapped at him when he’d tried to help with the washing up.

He had no idea what bee had gotten in Jemma’s bonnet, but it must be buzzing away. His reigning theory was that she was about to get her monthlies. He should bribe one of the coven members to bring a supply of chocolate for next time, his mum had sworn it’d helped.

“I’m going to make rolls,” Jemma announced, maybe to him, maybe to the dirty glasses she was glaring at.

Oh dear.

With her energy growling and biting like it was, the poor yeast wouldn’t have a chance.

Fitz cleared his throat.

Jemma turned towards him, and her face crumpled like she might cry. It made him very sorry he didn’t have a chocolate bar for her. “Don’t bite me, little spoon, save that for later.” Some of the worry lines on her face smoothed and the faintest hint of color appeared in her cheeks. “But I’m insisting on helping with the baking, to keep the wee yeast beasties from meeting the same fate as the toaster.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Fine, get the flour and sugar out of the pantry.”

He stuffed a ginger biscuit in his mouth while he was retrieving the bags, setting them on the counter as Jemma wiped water spots off her crockery mixing bowl. She looked very intent, so he edged over to the oven and got it going.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered after a moment, looking down at the block of yeast in her hands, possibly apologizing to it instead of him. She raised her head with something like a smile in place, but the corners were strained. “I’m not meaning to be grumpy.”

“I know.” He put a hand on her elbow. “And you don’t need to apologize.” He leaned in and kissed her temple. “At least not to me. The toaster should get one, and possibly this yeast.”

Jemma’s smile became more genuine. “I don’t think I’ve killed them yet.”

“A low bar. Their yeast-feelings might be hurt.”

Jemma groaned and leaned her head against his shoulder. That was better. He stroked her back. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Let’s make rolls,” he murmured, nuzzling her hair and breathing in her ice and fern scent. He loved that mix of winter and spring, of new beginning growing out of the dead of winter. He loved her.

He plucked the yeast from her fingers, the package still cold from the fridge, to set on the counter while Jemma carefully measured out the dry ingredients for the dough.

“My mother made prize-winning rolls,” she said, critically eyeing the amount of salt she had in a measuring spoon. “I always think it bothered her that I could only muster up decent soda bread. I got a more than one snide remark about never getting a husband because of my lack of baking skills.” She heaved a sigh while Fitz silently thanked all the powers in the universe that Jemma had not been besieged by suitors lining up because of her cakes. Though they must all be idiot bastards for not seeing everything else she was good at.

“I like your cooking,” he said. “It’s tasty.”

“Oh, Fitz.” She gave him a peck, and he used his thumb to wipe flour from her cheek. “Now what should I do about the yeast?”

“What do you usually do?”

“Sugar and milk.” She made a face. “Bloody hell, I don’t have any warmed up.”

Fitz tugged at a lock of hair that’d fallen out of her ponytail. “Witch.”

“Fine.” Jemma poured milk into a separate bowl. She cradled the blue bowl in her hands and looked at him expectantly. While she should be able to handle it easily enough on her own, Fitz didn’t mind cozying up behind her and setting his hands over hers. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning back against him.

After a moment, he felt power hum through her, up her legs and down her arms. The energy was gentle, a soft ask rather than a harsh demand. Jemma had begun to finesse her powers, and it awed him.

He didn’t let go when she let the magic ground itself back into the earth and set the bowl of warm milk on the counter, instead wrapping his arms about her middle.

“That went well,” she said turning her head.

He obligingly kissed the offered cheek. “Aye. What were you’re thinking about?” Her answering blush made him grin. “Out with it.”

“Well, the sun or fire would be too much. I wanted the milk warm, not scalding. So I thought about how warm your hands can make me, but with the clear intent of that heat raising the temperature of the milk.”

He slid one hand up to cup her breast. “Like this? Is your heat rising?”

She laughed but didn’t move away from his touch. “A bit, but rolls first, Fitz.”

“Only because you say so.” He relegated his hands to her hips while she poured the sugar into the milk, then broke off a bit of the yeast and added it.

Jemma cupped the bowl between her hands. “Now I just…ask the yeast to…ferment?” She sounded adorably unsure.

“Close your eyes,” he said into her ear.

Jemma did, and Fitz ran his hands down her arms, ending up putting his hands over hers.

“There’s life happening in the bowl, can you feel it?”

“Yes,” she said, very quietly, as if the yeast might hear and stop.

“Encourage that, hold your intent that the yeast merrily do their living.”

Jemma took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing against his chest. Her energy woke back up, but it was different this time, bubbly and full of life. He couldn’t help smiling as he helped her direct it into the bowl.

After a few moments, Jemma made a pleased noise. Fitz peeked over her shoulder to where the mixture in the bowl happily bubbled.

“I did it,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You did do it, witch Jemma. Now time for mixing and kneading, maybe keep a little of that energy with you, so the yeast doesn’t forget their business.”

Jemma set the bowl down, then threaded her fingers with his and brought his knuckles to her mouth for a kiss. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I can’t imagine being without you,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Jemma’s shoulder’s hunched and her voice sounded falsely cheery when she spoke. “Let’s make rolls, shall we?”

Fitz wished she tell him what was bothering her, but hopefully, it’d all be better by tomorrow.

#

The evening slid towards night. The forest sat in twilight with the shadows under the trees slowly spreading like spilled ink.

Fitz minded none of it as he followed his mate towards the ritual space behind the cabin. She had changed into a simple dress and the skirt swished against her legs. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t have any knickers on.

Jemma had only gotten surlier as the day wore on, excepting a brief glow of happiness over the soft rolls that’d come out of the oven. Fitz had accidentally eaten half of them before they’d even cooled. The taste had been amazing. The yeast had liked being coddled by Jemma’s magic. Fitz understood that. He did his best around her as well, and she certainly made him, er,  _ rise _ , regularly.

At the clearing, the one with the standing stone where he’d first seen his witch, Jemma dropped the quilt she’d been carrying to march over and place her hands on the stone. She stood quiet and still with her eyes closed. He couldn’t imagine exactly what she could feel through the stone, but he could feel the ancient power of the site humming to life as Jemma greeted it.

After a moment, she dropped her hands and turned around, setting her back against the stone. Her hand shook as she raised it to him. Fitz had no doubt what she wanted. He paused only long enough to drop his kilt and pull off his shirt before colliding with her, pushing her against the rock while fiercely kissing her.

“Please, Fitz,” she murmured.

He would do anything she wished, but the bond between them surged with desire and desperate wanting, settling his body alight and making all other thoughts besides pleasing his mate flitter away.

Jemma seized both his wrists and brought his hands to her tits, which he eagerly set about kneading. She moaned and arched into his touch. A hot pulse of lust ricocheted between them, and Fitz found he didn’t care about the buttons on the front of Jemma’s dress anymore. He grabbed the front and yanked, sending buttons flying. He pushed a hand under the fabric of her bra to pinch a nipple. Jemma gasped.

“Please,” she muttered. “Please, please.”

The need to please his mate fed his lust. Fitz dropped to his knees. The rest of her dress easily came apart, and he yanked down her slip until she could step out of it. As if she’d read his mind, no knickers covered her mound. 

He pressed his nose into her curls, inhaling her ice and fern scent mixed with the musk of desire. The chill autumn air did nothing to dampen his want as a breeze caressed him. His prick had to be harder than the rock behind Jemma, but the need to give her pleasure drove him more than his need to come.

Fitz put a palm under Jemma’s thigh and urged her to hook a leg over his shoulder. She did, giving him free access to the prize he was after. The scent of want became dizzying. His mate’s need for him made him want to howl to the moon with joy. Only he needed his mouth for another reason. Fitz nuzzled against Jemma’s pussy, enjoying the fact that she liked him there, along with wanting her scent on him.

There was a tug at his hair as Jemma curled her fingers into it to direct his mouth to her pussy. He licked, loving how she had no problem telling him what to do. It was another way they fit so well together.

The first soft lick resulted in an explosion of salt and need on his tongue. Fitz followed that lick with rougher, harder ones, pressing his tongue deep into her opening in search of more of her honey. Jemma rocked her hips against him, shagging his face as she used her hold on him to pull his tongue up to her clit.

He happily obliged, licking, sucking, tapping the swollen nub while glorying in all the noises of enjoyment Jemma made. She peppered his name in among her moans and mewls, still begging for him. His witch, his little spoon, wanting him so badly she couldn’t hide it had his cock throbbing. He’d fist himself to ease the ache, but his hands had other uses. One steadied Jemma with a hold on her hip, and the other sought her entrance. Her slickness allowed him to slide two fingers in easily, and he fucked her with them, curling them to hit the spot that always made her wild.

Jemma gasped and the thigh against his shoulder quivered.

It only took another minute of licking to coax her into an orgasm. His fingers were half-crushed from the grip of her channel and he could hardly draw breath as she ground her pussy against his face. Everything felt perfect.

After long moments, Jemma dropped her leg back to the ground and pulled at his hair until he stood up. She kissed him. “I love you,” she said, her fingers digging into his shoulders like she could force the words into him.

“I love you, too.” Was he missing something? She seemed very fierce for having just got off.

Jemma pushed him back a step, then grabbed his hand to lead him to the quilt. She shrugged out of the remnants of her dress and undid her bra. With a huff, she bent over to spread out the quilt in the middle of the clearing. It gave him an excellent look at her pussy all shiny from licking and her cream. He couldn’t resist and went to his knees again behind her, grabbing her hips and nosing her folds.

“Fitz,” she said with a laugh. He wanted more of that sound, so tightened his hold when she tried to squirm away and growled a warning. Jemma laughed again.

“I want this arse, lassie,” he said, exaggerating his accent, which earned him more laughter.

“But I want to see you.” The words were edged with an emotion he couldn’t name, but he let her go so she could turn around. Jemma sat on the quilt, goose pimples racing across her skin, her nipples tightening as a cold breeze swayed the branches of the pines. That wouldn’t do. He crawled forward to cover her with his warmth. Jemma spread her legs in welcome.

He closed his mouth over a nipple as she laid back, but didn’t tarry, the need to plunge his cock inside her like a spur to his side. Fitz positioned the tip against her opening before thrusting forwards. Her body stretched to accommodate him. Once they were joined tightly together, Jemma curled her arms and legs around him while her pussy squeezed tight, as if she meant to never let him go.

That was fine with him. Whatever happened, he always planned to be right beside her.

The drive to move eventually made him hitch his hips. Jemma moaned and undulated under him.

Fitz badly wanted to make the moment last, but his body had other ideas. He bucked hard, driving into Jemma with each stroke as if he were trying to forge them together. Beneath him, she rose to meet every thrust until another orgasm shook her and she clung to him as she rode it out, the pulsing of her channel driving him closer to his peak.

“Jemma,” he moaned, peppering her face with kisses. “My Jemma, my mate.” With the last word, he grunted, his climax nearly shaking him apart. His vision whited out and his limbs became uncoordinated, finally giving out so he dropped on top of her.

She stroked his back while he caught his breath. He blinked the world back into focus, then pushed himself up while looking down at Jemma, meaning to kiss her before wrapping her up in the quilt to get her home.

Only she was crying, tears running from the corners of her eyes to drop onto the quilt.

“M’eudail?” he whispered, kissing away a tear.

“I love you,” she said. “You have to know that I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He frowned at the near panic on her face and the bleakness in her usually warm-chocolate eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you, Fitz,” she said again. “I will always love you. You have to know I don’t want this because I love you.” Her hand fumbled on the blanket, then rose to press something cold and metallic against his side. She muttered words he didn’t quite catch.

The world ended.

The now comfortable and familiar link between them snapped, leaving a stinging pain in his chest. He could still smell her, but not the sharp freshness of fern and ice, just the everyday scent of Jemma.

She pushed at his chest. “Go.” It was a command.

Fitz scrambled away from her, hurt and confusion blossoming like twin exploding stars inside him. He shifted, though it didn’t stop the growing maelstrom of agony in his heart.

Jemma rolled onto her side, face in her hands, and sobbed. Something fell from her fingers to the quilt. It reeked of magic. What had she done?

The answer hurt too much to contemplate.

She drew her knees up, her pussy still gleamed from their lovemaking, his release leaking out to coat her folds, the scent of them together only adding to his confusion.

He took a step towards her, but Jemma held up a hand towards him, the palm wet with tears. He could smell the salt. “Run, go. You know what I’ve done.”

He had no bloody clue what she’d done, but with the underscore of the bond missing, his instincts screamed for him to do what his mate asked him to.

Tail between his legs, he turned and ran into the forest, dodging trees and losing fur to thickets of thorns that snagged him.

Fitz ran until his legs ached and his tongue hung loose from his jaws. He ran in circles, along the bank of creeks, and followed the tops of the tors around the loch. As long as his breath burned in his lungs and his legs moved, he didn’t have to think. All the things he didn’t want to acknowledge, everything he’d lost, yawned like a greedy mouth behind him, waiting for him to falter so it could swallow him.

It took sleet coming down in freezing sheets for Fitz to at last stop. He didn’t know where he was, besides deep among the trees. Whining, he turned in a circle. He hoped Jemma was safe, that she was warm and dry in the cottage.

His heart reached out for her, but the bond wasn’t there.

He was alone.

In the gloom, he could make out an oddly regular shape against the branches of bare oaks. He hobbled to it on exhausted legs and painful paws. It was a chimney, connected to a stone fireplace. The rest of the structure had rotted away long ago, and quick sniff let him know no fire had burned there in decades. The flue must be choked with bird’s nests, as no water dripped down. Fitz huddled into a corner of the cold, dead hearth, his tail over his nose.

_ Jemma. _

The black mouth engulfed him. 


	19. Jemma

Jemma put the bag full of spell components near the front door. She expected Will would show sooner or later, once he realized Fitz was gone. He’d know what her mate being absent meant.

Not that she knew what it meant, besides an endless, unforgiving sharp pain in the hollow where her heart used to be. 

Three days. She’d only been apart from Fitz for three days, and it felt like she’d aged three hundred years. The cottage had gone from cozy with Fitz under its roof, to mocking in its emptiness. Her nights were nothing but nightmares. There were many, but the most common was one where she found herself back in the huge ward she’d worked during the war. The orderlies would bring in a new patient and the surgeons would yell for her to bring them supplies, ones she could never find. The body at the end of the dream, dead because she couldn’t find what the doctor needed, was always that of a wolf, its fur matted with blood, eyes glassy and sightless. 

Once, she’d woken up and run to the bathroom just in time as her stomach heaved to bring up what little was in there. She hadn’t had the heart to turn on her radio or use her blender. They both sat silent on the counter. The only thing she’d eaten had been bread with a bit of jam, the sweetness washed out on her tongue.

The hours not spent in fitful sleep she’d spent going over and over the spell Raina had died performing. Jemma had studied it until she’d known what to do and how to end things with Will, forever this time.

Memories of those days after she’d learned he wasn’t coming home kept popping up at weird times. The taste of the brand of tea she’d drunk at the time, the scent of lilacs, the ticking of the hallway clock. At one point, she’d gotten up to walk around the cottage just to make sure there wasn’t a clock ticking away somewhere, and she hadn’t known if it was better or worse to confirm that the sound only existed in her memory.

The couch creaked under her as she sat on it, tucked against one arm, staring at the fire in the hearth. She tugged the baggy sleeves of the cardigan she had on down to cover her hands. The nearly shapeless garment had once been her grandfather’s, and it worked well to keep her warm now, though it couldn’t melt the shards of ice she’d driven into her heart.

Her heart, which hadn’t yet caught up to reality. Fitz’s clothes were all washed and neatly put away, except for the kilt hanging by the back door so he could dress when he came in from his run. She kept expecting him any minute, but of course, he never came. That’d been the point of what she’d done. Hopefully, he was halfway across the country by now, safe and far, far away from the evil that wanted her.

Shouldn’t it make a difference, that she’d chosen this pain instead of it being thrust upon her? Only it was so different. It wasn’t the blind terror of surviving the blitz, nor the frantic moments of a patient dying, not even the numbness of learning about Will’s death. Looking back on it, Jemma couldn’t even tell how much she’d grieved for him, how much for the life she’d thought she’d live that’d been shattered, and how much of it had been that he’d represented every senseless, useless death of a young person sacrificed to the machines of war.

It didn’t matter now.

She simply had to carry out her plan and things would be made as right as they could for Fitz. Maybe he’d never know what she’d done, never visit her grave to leave flowers. She’d made her peace with that. The more he hated her, the easier it would be for him to find a wife who could give him the home and love he deserved.

Deep in her chest, jealousy kicked, but she shushed it. Fitz’s love no longer belonged to her.

A single loud rap on her door made her jump. She crossed quickly to open it, entirely unsurprised to see Will leaning against the side of his car. Both were just beyond the shielding bubble of the protection spell. Will dropped the rock in his hand.

“I see I don’t need to knock twice.” He tipped his hat at her.

Jemma put a hand on the door frame. “What are you doing here?” she asked, stalling for more time to get her metaphorical feet back under her.

Will snorted. “Come now, Jemma, we both know why I’m here, and why no wolf is standing in front of you and growling. I didn’t think you had it in you to chop off that connection.” He drew a finger across his throat. “The girl I knew ten years ago was so desperate for love and attention she never could have let someone go, even if it was for their own good.”

“You never knew me.” His words still stung, because she had been hungry for those things, enough to believe that what she and Will had could have been called love.

Will shrugged a shoulder. “I did in the way that meant you couldn’t give your mate your virginity.”

She made a face. The nerve of this man. “Seriously, I think we don’t need to discuss my virtue as if that has any relevance.” Jemma had never felt any shame over what she’d chosen to do for those few days

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” His smile was cold. “Do lead the way.”

Jemma stood still, considering. This was it, her doom, the reason she’d met Will in London, the reason she’d inherited her power, and the reason she’d had and lost Fitz. Fate had steered her whole life to this moment when she would stop the thing hiding behind Will’s eyes. It’d even made her strong enough over the years to bear it, through the crucible of nursing work, which had also given her the gift of knowing death and not fearing it.

She picked up her bag, held her head high, and stepped out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.

With a few words and a flick of her wrist, she broke the protection spell. Will smirked as he stepped across the previously impenetrable line into the front garden. His feet made no noise on the brown grass. Jemma marched off the front porch and led the way around the side of the house to the path that would take them to the clearing.

She did not look back.

Jemma made for the standing stone as soon as the trees gave way. It sang with power, calling to her. She raised a finger, tracing over what might have once been a carving of a labyrinth, but that time and moss had obscured. Grounding herself, she turned around. Will remained on the far side of the open space.

“Set up,” he spat at her, and she obliged, arranging all the elements the spell he wished called for. She used her power to spark candles to life. It took a bit more coaxing to fire up the charcoal in its brazier. Once the top glowed, she sprinkled the packet of incense on it. The resulting smoke cloyed at her nose with its thick scent of sandalwood and oakmoss.

Jemma lifted her wand. “Might I suggest being inside the circle?”

Will studied her face, tilting his head this way and that, before pulling off his hat and slowly walking to the center of the circle. Every step looked painful. The power here must not like his presence. All the better for what she was about to do.

Holding her wand out, Jemma created the sacred circle and called the four watchtowers. Doing it all herself made her long for her coven mates, but none of them knew what she was planning. They must not have sensed her break the bond with Fitz, either, or they would have shown up at her door demanding answers, which she wouldn’t have wanted to give. The battle she was fighting was hers alone. The war was one she’d been waging for ten years, and she was tired. It was time for it to be done.

She knelt beside the brazier, her head bowed. Hiding the motion by waving her arms through the thick incense smoke, she worked loose the black ribbons around her wrists until the ends were in her palms. When she had ahold of both of them, she grasped for the trendles of her power. Is shimmied up from the ground into her, bright and hot as lava, as if the earth itself knew her intent.

Will paced back and forth inside the ritual space, crushing the brim of his hat in his hands. “You’re strong,” he said, with something close to grudging respect.

She ignored the compliment. “I identified a mistake Raina made.”

Will’s pacing stopped. “What?”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch, but she schooled her features, using the bland expression she’d perfecting during a thousand terrible situations on the hospital ward. “I don’t think she included you directly in the spell. I need a lock of hair, or a finger, but I think the hair would be more acceptable.”

Will frowned and his face rippled as the thing behind it showed through for a moment. Jemma forced herself not to respond.

“And if I don’t,” he growled. That wasn’t a surprise, handing over a part of yourself to a witch carried a risk, it would have been odd if he hadn’t pushed back. If only she didn’t need it to achieve her true intent.

Jemma shrugged a shoulder. “Have it your way. Perhaps suggest it to the next witch.”

Will’s fists balled, but he made no move to capitulate. Also expected, though she would have to change the spell at the last moment, which would end up with him and her being bound together in a sort of hell for all eternity. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t let Will walk away from this clearing. Perhaps one day, the forest would whisper the truth to Fitz, and he’d forgive her for hurting him.

Jemma began to chant, swirling up more power from deep within the earth. The quartz vein sang to her, accompanied by the deeper bass notes of the surrounding rocks, ones that had been created long ago, then swept down into the depths of the earth before being pushed back up and changed into something new and beautiful.

The trees surrounding the clearing leaned in, their trunks creaking and branches waving from a force that wasn’t the wind.

Jemma stood, holding her arms high as she chanted. Energy snaked through her, snapping like lightning. Her veins glowed green with it. Will stepped closer, a triumphant look on his face.

“Yes,” he murmured as she reached out to hook a stream of energy into his chest. The connection made her grimace. She could feel Will, the Will she’d known and once thought she loved, but he was a little more than a puppet for the ancient evil that controlled him. That thing wanted power. It’d eaten so much, stolen from shifters and witches. Hoarded for no reason other than it could be.

Jemma did not want to understand this.

She pulled up more energy from the earth. Whatever amount of magic she’d need to pluck Will’s animal back from the realm it’d been sent into, it was minuscule compared to what she’d need to bind this creature.

“Please,” she said. “The hair.”

Will’s face contorted again. “No,” spat a voice that wasn’t his.

Fine. So mote it be. She grabbed his arm with one hand and twisted one of the black ribbons around his wrist. It wiggled and twisted like a snake, growing until it’d wrapped itself around his chest.

Will roared.

Jemma braced herself, not letting go of Will, and changed the chant, directing all the energy into binding Will and the evil wearing him. Power surged up from the earth, lighting the clearing with a green glow.

Will struggled, howling, his voice lost as hers gained strength. The ribbon held, and she added the other, keeping hold of the end this time. Energy filled her, blazing like fire. It was too much, she was going to be nothing but atoms.

“You’re nothing,” Will hurled at her. “A silly little girl pretending.”

Jemma didn’t bother with a response. She was a witch, and she’d found her power.

The evil struggled against the bonds, and she drew up more power still, instructing the ribbon to tie up her wrist, holding her and Will together as her body verged on dissolution. She had to stay linked to him, touching him, then no matter what she’d bind him into the standing stone, her intent from the start. It seemed to grow, green light rippling over its surface, the carvings standing out in stark relief as if freshly done. It was hungry.

Jemma took a step towards it, barely holding onto the struggling evil in her grasp along with her body. Her chant grew louder. Only something was wrong, the end of the ribbon wouldn’t wrap around her wrist. She instructed it again and again. This had to work.

“You can’t do it,” Will said in a teasing voice, darkness flooding his features as his mouth drew into a parody of a smile. “I knew you couldn’t. You don’t want it, because somewhere, deep down, you still love me.”

Jemma laughed. She was about to die, be bound to this hideousness for all eternity deep in the bowels of the earth, and the damn ribbon still wouldn’t obey her, but the idea she could have ever truly loved Will when she had hardly known him was so ridiculous she couldn’t help the peels of laughter.

Will’s face became stormy. “Bitch.”

Jemma knew love. How it stole in when you weren’t expecting it, how it was a sleepy morning smile or a good night kiss while curled up warm under the blankets. How it accepted you, and your bad cooking, how it made you better because you loved the other person.

How pathetic that this thing had no idea what true love looked like.

She laughed.

The black ribbon remained stubbornly still.

“You can’t,” Will taunted. “You fucking—”

A loud growl interrupted the words.

Jemma turned her head, the magic of the circle parting to allow Fitz through. In his wolf form, he snarled, fangs on display. The hair of his shoulders bristled.

“No,” she said, startled.

She could feel him, the energy of his body, his form. She shouldn’t, she’d broken all that. Her magic shouldn’t have simply let him in.

He shifted but remained crouched down. She could swear his hair still stood up in anger. “What the blasted hell are you doing Jemma?”

“It won’t work,” she cried. “I have to bind him. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Of course it won’t bloody work.” He clenched his fists, his eyes on Will. “You’re already bound.”

None of that made sense. “What?”

“You’re my mate, Jemma.”

“I broke that,” she cried. “You should be gone.” Her voice wavered from the strain of holding herself together.

“Bollocks.” Fitz’s gaze met hers. “Took me a bit to work out that you thought you had, and you did a marvelous job of mimicking it, but your intent mustn’t have been there.”

Oh.

“We’re still mates?” she asked, tentatively, hoping that maybe it all wasn’t lost.

Fitz opened his mouth, but then leaped, shifting as he went.

She felt it then, Will had used her distraction to try and escape. He’d wiggled a hand out from the ribbons around him and was raising it towards Jemma. Fitz grabbed Will’s wrist in his jaws, wrestling with him as Will tried to shake him off. Jemma switched from trying to get the ribbon to wrap around her wrist to sending it to reinforce the bonds around Will.

It did as asked, wrapping him tight.

“Fitz!” she shouted. “I need help.”

Muzzle red, he rushed to her side. Jemma sank a hand into his thick fur. Her love, her mate, her home.

Buzzing with power, she could feel the contours of what she’d done with the amulet, how it’s simply dammed the stream of their bond. Flicking that dam into nothingness was child’s play. The force of the connection reasserting itself made her shiver with delight. The world felt right for the first time in days.

She could feel Will struggling, the evil thing that owned him fighting and scratching to be free. He’d break through in a moment. With Fitz at her side, she had someone to help channel the power. The feeling she was about to fly apart eased, and she knew she could do more. She sent the call out, deep into the earth, into the trees of her forest, into every bird in the air and fish in the loch.

They answered her call.

The power roared through her. The clearing lit up bright as noon, the energy flowing like water, flowing like love. The words of the chant sprang to her lips.

Will twisted in the hold of the ribbons, screaming though she couldn’t hear the sound.

With Fitz helping her, she had enough magic to no longer need to bind herself to Will to keep him contained. The power knocked him back, until the standing stone, which had borne silent witness to millennia of witches practicing magic, rippled with energy.

Jemma raised her hands. The words of the chant felt like they were being ripped from her lungs.

Will’s form dissolved into a seething black mass, but the ribbons held tight.

Fitz lifted his blood-stained muzzle to the sky and howled, the sound blending with her words of power.

The stone’s surface surged outwards. Jemma focused her power into a stream, pushing at the thing that had been Will. It grew claws that furrowed the dirt, but the earth in her circle gave it no purchase.

The standing stone hooked tendrils around the dark mass of evil. Jemma screamed, Fitz howled, and the creature gave a final shriek as the standing stone swallowed it, the surface rippling before growing still again. The whole earth heaved, and the standing stone sank into the ground. The growling of rock against rock drowned out the frantic pounding of her heart. 

The power still raged through her, and she could feel the passage of the stone down through the layers of rock as if the stone was sinking back through time.

It was over.

Jemma dropped to her knees, then to her side, her strength spent. She rolled over on her back to stare up at the sky.

The sight of the Milkyway was blocked as Fitz, back to human, peered down at her. “You need to ground, little spoon.”

“You’re here,” she whispered, feeling as if she was flying through the stars instead of lying on the forest floor.

“Aye, and we’ll talk later about you never being so bloody stupid again.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t feel any anger through the bond, just relief.

“Ground, Jemma, you’re still glowing green.” He bowed his head and kissed her, and she let the power go, allowing it to seep back into rocks, trees, and life of the forest. She thanked all of it, letting her gratitude go along with the energy so that a bit of her would be mixed in with every last bit of the woods.

The kiss went on an on, not urgent or needy, simply comfortable and so very necessary.

When the power was back where it belonged, Jemma broke the kiss to mumble words to dismiss the circle and watchtowers. Frigid air rushed in, and she finally felt how tired she was. She shook with a shiver.

“Home with you,” Fitz said, helping her to her feet.

They stumbled home together, through the back door, and straight to the bedroom. She shed the cardigan and her dress and underthings to crawl under the covers, skin-to-skin with her mate.

Where she belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't quite finish 20 yesterday due to work-related reasons, and I work today, but I'm off tomorrow and it's about half done, so SOON. Thank you for being on this ride with me! <3


	20. Fitz

Chapter 20

#

“Hurry, Fitz,” Jemma moaned. She was bent over their bed, her skirt flipped up and her thighs parted. “The others will miss us.”

Fitz had no intention of hurrying. The point of a Yule celebration was that it lasted all night, and with a house full of witches, he doubted they didn’t know exactly what he and Jemma were up to.

He stripped off his shirt, dropping it to the floor before he caressed the curve of his mate’s arse, up over the swell, and then down to her thigh, letting his thumb brush her pussy. She pushed into his touch, arching her back and presenting a very tempting picture.

Unable to resist, he pushed two fingers into her channel. Jemma made one of his favorite noises in the world, a sharp intake of breath and a barely muffled sound that was somewhere between a moan and a squeak. Her inner walls squeezed his fingers in a little, welcoming hug.

He slid them slowly in and out, teasing himself with her delectable fern and ice scent while watching the miracle of her demanding he please her. She rocked back against his hand, refusing to let him set the pace. Fitz stopped thrusting his fingers at all to let Jemma move how she wanted.

It didn’t work entirely how he’d planned. “Fitz,” Jemma huffed, then she somehow pulled herself off his hand while rolling over and grabbing his collar. He ended up on the bed, his face smooshed against the quilt. Jemma’s scent surrounded him, and he inhaled deeply before turning over onto his back. Jemma pounced immediately, yanking up his kilt. Her warm breath tickled against his cock as she bent over him, but all she did was press a soft kiss to the underside of his prick.

“Jemma,” he said. It came out more of a whine than he’d meant it too. “Please?”

“Who’s in a hurry now,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Lick?” he suggested.

She did, one teeny-tiny barely-there swipe of her tongue on his shaft. She grinned up at him with a raised brow. What a bloody minx. He loved her so damn much.

His head thumped against the mattress. “Do your worst.” He closed his eyes.

The mattress dipped, shifting as Jemma moved.

A loud clatter from the back if the house interrupted them. Startled, Fitz opened his eyes and pushed up on his elbows.

Jemma sighed. “I think it’s just Hunter in the bins again.” She had her dress most of the way undone, and her bra had disappeared. She crawled across the bed to peek out the bedroom window. Fitz climbed to his knees and pressed against her. He looked outside while cupping Jemma’s tits. He kept his touch gentle, she’d been tender lately, which she said was completely normal in the early stages of pregnancy.

The entire forest lay under a shimmering blanket of white, the nearly full moon reflecting off the pristine surface.

There was another crash, followed by the noise of the door to the rear garden opening. “Hunter!” Bobbi admonished. “Get away from those cans. I know they smell good.” There was a harsh cough. “Let’s go for a walk. Fitz and Jemma disappeared to play mattress polo and won’t miss us.”

Jemma stifled a laugh and then a moan as Fitz sneaked a hand into her bra to tweak her nipple. It tightened against his fingers and he petted the puckered nub with a fingertip.

Bobbi appeared, walking towards the wood, a huge brown bear at her side. Poor Hunter, he still had a lot to learn about being a shifter.

“I’m so happy for them,” Jemma said, letting the curtain fall. Fitz felt the same way. An unexpected effect of binding Will and the creature controlling him had been a release of hundreds of years of hoarded magic. An entire crop of brand-new witches, from bloodlines long thought disappeared, had awoken to their powers. People who’d had no idea their families had once been shifters had suddenly been able to change forms.

Hunter had just gotten home from work when he’d ended up a bear. He’d had enough presence of mind to head to Bobbi’s house, where he’d gotten distracted by the rubbish bins and she’d nearly hit him with a broom. It had been a cute story the first twenty times Fitz had heard it.

In the low light of the bedside lamp, he slid his hand further down Jemma’s front, from her chest to the sweet swell of her belly. They hadn’t officially announced the pregnancy yet, though he was sure everyone knew about it as well. Especially because earlier in the evening Elena had given them a tarot reading which included an abundance of cards pertaining to family and babies. There’d also been a lot of knowing looks involved.

Jemma wiggled out of his hold and patted the bed. He lay down again, linking his hands behind his head. With a shimmy, Jemma wiggled her dress the rest of the way off her hips and down her legs. He marveled at all the bare skin, which glowed in the warm light of the bedside lamp.

Wearing a smug little smile, Jemma straddled his hips. He helpfully used a hand to angle his cock, hissing at the first brush of her wet pussy against the head. Her hips stuttered, hitched, then rolled as she sank down on him.

Her channel pulsed around his cock, sending heavenly waves of pleasure through him.

How had he ever existed before he’d met Jemma?

It still scared him, how she’d been willing to save him by sending him away, but he’d made his peace with the fact that she’d done it because of how much she loved him. He pushed himself up, tugging at her hair until she bent to kiss him. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Jemma moaned. “Oh, Fitz.” She grasped his hands, palm to palm with their fingers intertwined. He lay against the mattress, gazing up at his whole universe. “I love you,” she said, her breathing harsh as she worked towards her climax.

He fought off his peak, wanting to stay like this forever, joined with his mate. She used their clasped hands for leverage, moving rougher and faster. His body demanded he press closer to her, and Fitz couldn’t stop from lifting every time she dropped down.

He shifted her weight to one hand so he could grab her arse. It was warm and full under his fingers, the muscles flexing as she rode him.

Her figures curled and her toes dug into his thighs. He slapped her arse, urging her to do what she needed to get off. Jemma arched her back and ground against him, her free hand rubbing her clit. “More,” she demanded, tugging at him through their bond, letting him feel how much she’d liked him spanking her.

Eager to do what his mate wished, he smacked her arse again. This time the noise was sharp and followed by a loud moan from Jemma. Her pussy attempted to strangle his cock. He clutched her rear, kneading it, paused to spank her sharply once more, then soothed the spot with a light touch. He could feel the heat of her skin.

Jemma squirmed, and he groaned, his sac drawing up. He needed…he needed…what he bloody needed was Jemma coming all over his prick. He drove into her, gripping her arse as he thrusted.

“Fitz.” Her head dropped back, her breasts bounced, and her channel clenched. 

With a soft cry, she came, the scent of her pleasure overwhelming all his senses. Fitz sat up, holding his mate--his heart--tight against him as she shuddered through her bliss.

“I love you m’eudail,” he said. Fitz bit her shoulder, holding her still as he plunged a half-dozen more times into her fluttering pussy. His orgasm unfurled like the northern lights in the winter sky, shimmering and shifting through the darkest parts of him and making them beautiful.

He opened his eyes, the top Jemma’s head filling his view. She yawned and snuggled against his chest. One of her hands inched up so she could hook a finger under his collar.

“Tired?”

“Hungry.” Her stomach growled.

He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “What sounds good?”

“Do you remember that drink I made, with the greens and the egg yolk?”

Did he ever. “That was delicious.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Fitz grinned. “Is that a pregnancy craving?”

“It’s too early.” She pursed her lips. “But…maybe.”

“Then baby gets what baby wants.” He wiggled down the bed to kiss the tiny swell of Jemma’s belly, the very beginning of their family. Fitz couldn’t wait to meet their son or daughter and run with them in the woods and stay up at night to howl at the moon before coming home to Jemma to cuddle together in front of the hearth.

He spread his hand over the wee bump, and Jemma put her fingers over his. “I can’t believe I could have missed this,” he said, more to his unborn child than her. “I thought I wanted to disappear and leave other people behind. I might have never known you, or your mum. And that would have been bloody tragic.”

“I think about that too,” Jemma said. “A year ago, I was facing a Christmas Eve shift on the ward. We sang carols, ate cake, and we lost two patients.” He kissed her belly again. “And now here I am, with you, and pregnant. Seems impossible and inevitable at the same time.” She stroked his head. “I do like that now, when the nightmares are bad, I can wake up and really know I’m safe and that the worst is over, and you’re there. You always smell so good and feel so warm. You help, even if you’re snoring.”

“I do not snore.” He had no clue, but he understood what she was saying about things being so much brighter. They had a future, one he wanted to get to. Sometimes the past reared its head, and his heart would pound before he walked through an unfamiliar doorway, or he’d need to check under the car before getting in, looking for booby traps that couldn’t possibly be there, but now he could feel that and then put it aside. Jemma didn’t judge him, and he always had her sunny smile and ice and fern scent to bring him back to the present.

Jemma’s stomach growled again.

He sat up, cupped her cheek, and kissed her. “Get dressed, I’ll get the blender going.”

“Fitz, thank you. You should know I intend to be right beside you for the rest of my life.”

“I do. And can’t imagine anything else.” He pulled his shirt on over his head. He patted the leather around his neck, the symbol of their bond. “And I intend to never take off this collar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It feels very odd that this story, which has been through so many versions is finally ending today, alongside AoS, which has been a driving force in my life for several years now. I'm very grateful that this novel found a home as fic, which is especially poignant because it's a story about belonging. I also just like writing about magic and shifters! 
> 
> *hugs fandom* This show has been an amazing journey, one I'm glad to share with all of you <3 Thank you for making it magnificent. 
> 
> 8/12/2020 0755, Curled up in my living room chair with puppies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm [ @sunalsolove ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com) on tumblr! I love hearing from y'all and knowing what you think, short comments, long comments, or emoji comments!


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